iGuy!
by iSnarkaholic
Summary: Be careful what you wish for! Carly/Sam CAM!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Inspired by...

...and dedicated to...

...the one and only OGJozzy.

Synopsis: Be careful what you wish for!

Pairing: Carly/Sam

Disclaimer: If I owned iCarly, the Season Four scripts wouldn't suck...

Rated: "M"

Genre: Romance/Drama

Current Muse: This Is The Time (Billy Joel)

**January 11th:**

Leaning forward, I grabbed the remote from my coffee table and switched off the movie I'd just rented. Turning to Sam, I asked, "Well? What did you think?"

She smiled and replied, "Did you see the way Allison totally kicked that guy's ass when he tried to mug her in the park? Brilliant!"

I nodded. "Uh, okay."

Silence.

"_Anything else?_" I added hopefully.

She reflected for a moment. "Oh yeah, Carls...those pretzels were really salty...is there any more iced tea in the fridge?" she asked, hopping up off the couch.

Damn! She didn't mentioned the scene where Allison and Natalie_ kissed!_

**January 24th:**

Leaning forward, I grabbed the remote from my coffee table and switched off the movie I'd just rented. Turning to Sam, I asked, "Well? What did you think?"

She smiled and replied, "That was great...I counted twenty-seven different, major explosions! Valerie sure knows how to blow up a building!"

I nodded. "Uh, okay."

Silence.

"_Anything else?"_ I added hopefully.

She reflected for a moment. "Oh yeah, Carls...gotta pee...be right back, okay?" she asked, hopping up off the couch.

Damn! She didn't mentioned the scene where Amy and Valerie_ made out!_

**February 16th:**

Leaning forward, I grabbed the remote from my coffee table and switched off the movie I'd just rented. Turning to Sam, I asked, "Well? What did you think?"

She smiled and replied, "Now that's what I call a horror movie! My only criticism is that it wasn't a snuff film...starring Freddie!"

I nodded. "Uh, okay."

Silence.

"_Anything else?" _I added hopefully.

She reflected for a moment. "Oh yeah, Carls...it's kinda cold in here...mind if I adjust the thermostat?" she asked, hopping up off the couch.

Damn! She didn't mentioned the scene where Rachel and Lisa _took a bath together!_

**February 23rd:**

Leaning forward, I grabbed the remote from my coffee table and switched off the movie I'd just rented. Turning to Sam, I asked, "Well? What did you think?"

She smiled and replied, "Did you see those desserts in the restaurant scene? Man, the French sure have a way with pastries!"

I nodded. "Uh, okay."

Silence.

"_Anything else?"_ I added hopefully.

She reflected for a moment. "Oh, yeah, Carls...I'm going run out for some ice cream...want any?" she asked, hopping up off the couch.

Damn! She didn't mentioned the scene where Lydia and Kristen _sensually_ _massaged each other!_

**March 18th:**

Leaning forward, I grabbed the remote from my coffee table and switched off the movie I'd just rented. Turning to Sam, I asked, "Well? What did you think?"

She smiled and replied, "That's one of the funniest comedies I've ever watched! Who knew you could do so many different things with a rubber chicken and a flame thrower!"

I nodded. "Uh, okay."

Silence.

"_Anything else?"_ I added hopefully.

She reflected for a moment. "Oh yeah, Carls...my phone is dead...mind if I use yours?" she asked, hopping up off the couch.

Damn! She didn't mentioned the scene where Lauren and Heather _shagged like crazed weasels! For three days straight!_

What am I gonna do?

I wish I had the courage to just flat-out ask Sam if she's gay.

Unfortunately, I don't.

But how many more months is it gonna take...and how many more mainstream movies - with not-so-subtle, lesbian subplots - are we gonna have to watch...before she figures out that I'm gay...

...and that I'm madly in love with her?

_This girl just can't take a hint!_

**April 5th:**

I flipped the collar of my long, double-breasted, charcoal-gray overcoat up against the damp, unseasonably-cold wind that whipped off the sun-splashed Pacific Ocean; and, jamming my hands deeply into my pockets, I stood at the water's edge, staring in silence across the high, whitecap-crested waves that shifted and thundered before me...

...here at the picturesque resort of Ocean Shores...

...its own little kingdom by the sea...

...reveling in the fact that this was just the first day of our two week long, Spring Break vacation...

...and in the knowledge that being seventeen and having no other responsibilities whatsoever only made it that much more enjoyable.

My one regret was that, due to the late arrival of spring, the temperature hadn't yet risen above the low 50's, so this was only a day trip.

Oh well, I thought, that's easy enough to remedy; and just as I made a mental note to come back in the very near future, once the weather had grown warmer...

...and to stay for at least a week...

..._and _to bring_ her_ with me...

...a colorful blur over to my left caught my eye, and I turned rapidly in that direction...

...to see Sam running toward me, up the otherwise deserted beach...

...at break-neck speed...

...barefoot, despite the cold; with the bottoms of her khaki cargo pants rolled up almost to her knees, and with her unzipped, navy jacket billowing out behind her as it caught the wind...

...pink-cheeked, with the late afternoon sun weaving its way in and out of her tousled blonde curls...

...and swinging a long, twisted, branch-shaped piece of driftwood that had recently washed ashore.

She stopped short a mere two steps away from me and, with an exuberant laugh that was strangely reminiscent of church bells, she flung it aside; and then she bent over – with her hands on her knees – gasping heavily while she tried to catch her breath.

Finally, she succeeded and, standing up straight once again, she lifted her face to mine...

...wearing a smile that lit up the entire shoreline more brightly than the sun ever could.

Smiling back warmly, I reached forward and messed up her already wind-swept hair even further...

...and then, without a word, I shyly turned my attention back to the sea...

...wondering as I did if anyone on the opposite side was looking back at me...

...at _us_.

Without hesitation, she followed suit, turning in that direction also; and stood almost shoulder to shoulder with me as we watched the sun invitingly blaze an illuminated path from our feet all the way to the horizon where it sat...

...heralding the fast-approaching end of a somewhat cold, but otherwise perfect day here in this secluded spot we'd found...

...under the deepening gold and rosy light of late afternoon that was brilliantly coloring the nearly cloudless sky.

Neither of us spoke...

...each of us busily lost in our own personal reflections...

...but finally, after nearly five minutes of total silence, curiosity got the better of me; so I looked over at her and asked, "What are you thinking?"

Without hesitation, she turned to face me and replied, "I was just wondering if you'd mind if I kissed you."

Stunned and speechless, my jaw dropped...

...and so did my gaze...

...and after nearly a minute spent staring at my liberally-sand-dusted shoes...in both shock and confusion...I recovered slightly...

...yet still found myself trembling uncontrollably as I raised my eyes to hers; and, staring back at me hopefully...

...she held out her arms.

Seconds later, I was in them and her lips were on mine...

...and it was more incredible than I had ever dreamed. Innocent yet intoxicating...gentle yet passionate...and so 100% Sam.

After about a minute (or maybe it was a week and a half...I honestly don't remember), she leaned back and looked searchingly into my eyes...

...without words...

...and I nodded. "Sam..._of course_ I do."

At that moment, an ecstatic smile crossed her face, and she shivered slightly...

...but I'm not sure if that was from emotion, or from the way the wind was penetrating her too-light spring jacket.

Soon deciding that the reason didn't matter...

_...but the solution did..._

...I quickly unbuttoned my voluminous overcoat and, opening it wide, I took one and a half steps forward; and seconds later it was wrapped it around us both...

...and, as I pulled her close, enfolding her in both my coat and my arms...

...she snuggled up next to me and leaned forward and whispered, "I love you, too."

Tilting my head to the right, I caressed her surprisingly-warm cheek with my own as I replied, in a low and trembling voice, "I'm so glad."

She was silent for a moment but then said, in an unexpectedly shy tone of voice, "Cupcake, I'm sorry I...didn't tell you sooner. It's just that...I wanted to be sure."

I leaned back and looked directly into her eyes. "You can be very, very sure," I replied with utmost conviction...

...and suddenly, her lips found mine again...

...and I swear at that moment, that the sand under my feet began shifting rapidly...

...in all directions...

...and so I welcomed the sudden and steadying presence of her arms around my waist, inside my coat.

And then, her eyes closed and her lips parted...

...and so did mine...

...yet it was nearly a full minute before our tongues met...

...shyly and tentatively at first...

...but before long, they had become rather well-acquainted...

...and, as they began their first affectionate dance of courtship...

...I was suddenly very aware of her arms unwrapping themselves from my waist...

...and her hands sliding around to the front of my body; and even though I was well aware why they had...

...I still gasped softly as they slowly and gently moved up my chest, on the outside of my shirt...

...finally coming to rest - directly yet very politely - over my breasts.

Reaching inside my overcoat, I moved my palms to her upper back; and after sensually caressing her shoulders for several minutes, I slid my hands lower...

...slowly yet steadily...

...and I felt my body shake at the thrill that shot through me when my palms came to rest on the magnificent curves at the bottom of her khaki-covered butt...

...and suddenly, I felt a strong, swooping motion in the pit of my lower stomach; and in response (and with a gasp), I pulled her to me...

...pressing her pelvis tightly against my own.

Seconds later, my lips were on her neck. "Sam, I love you...so much. I have...for such a long time," I murmured.

She turned her face toward mine. "Carls...I want to make love to you...so badly. I have...for _such_ a long time," she murmured.

And I froze.

Seconds later - instinctively - my arms released her, and I hastily took a step backward; and as my coat fell away from her body...

...and I stared at her silently and fearfully...

...she stared back at me...

...clearly horrified. "Oh, God! Oh, G-god, Carls! Did I s-say something wrong? If I did, I...I'd like to ap-pologize!"

Too flustered to think clearly, I shook my head vigorously in denial.

She wasn't convinced...

...and stood staring back at me, equally fearful...

...until I replied, in an unsteady voice, "You...I...it's j-just that...Sam, it's m-my first time."

She didn't answer...

...so I raised my eyebrows questioningly; and then, after a very long pause...

...she admitted, "Yeah...mine too."

For some reason, this calmed me slightly and I nodded. "Well then, can we please just wait for a little while?"

Almost instantly, her face fell...

...and she stared down at her feet in silence.

"Please, Sam?" I asked. "I...it's such a...big step for me. I...I just need a little t-time," I added, my voice faltering.

After thinking it over, for nearly a minute, she lifted her eyes to mine again...

...looking so disappointed...

...while trying (and failing) to keep it out of her voice as she answered, "Of course, Cupcake. As l-long as you want to. You're worth waiting for."

But still, she looked so sad...

...and so, with a reassuring smile, I walked back to her and wrapped my overcoat and my arms around her again.

"Don't worry," I whispered. "I love you. And we _will_. Someday...okay?"

No response.

I tilted my head back and looked directly into her eyes. "We will, Sam. I promise."

Without answering - and without looking entirely convinced - she leaned forward and rested her head against the front of my shoulder again...

...and reaching up, I tangled my hand in her hair as I whispered, "I _promise_...okay, Sammie?"

Apparently (and finally) assured, she nodded slightly...and I felt her relax in my arms a little as her own arms circled my waist inside my coat once again...

...and with a smile, I pulled her as close to me as I possibly could...

...doing my best to convey - without words - that I was absolutely going to honor my promise.

I don't remember how long we stood like that, but eventually the low angle of the sun in the sky persuaded me to look at my watch. "The last bus leaves in less than an hour," I announced.

"I know," she replied, "But this place is so great...even better than the brochure said it would be! I...I wish we could stay."

I leaned back and looked at her. "I know, Sweetheart...I was just thinking the same thing; after all, we haven't even had a chance to check out any of the shops or restaurants yet. Anyway, I was just about to ask you if you'd like to come back with me...maybe later in the summer, when the weather is nicer?"

Almost immediately, her eyes lit up. "Can we really?" she asked wistfully...

...in a tone so heart-breaking that it suggested she'd never visited the beach before...

_...any beach..._

...but I knew better than to ask her that, so instead I answered, "Of course. If you want to, then we're definitely coming back."

At this assurance, she nodded enthusiastically, and smiled widely...

...until I asked, "But in the meantime, aren't you forgetting something, Sam?"

Still wrapped inside my coat, she suddenly looked up at me in confusion as she asked, "What?"

"One for the road," I answered with an indulgent smile, while tilting my head forward...

...and then, in the solitude of our wind-swept stretch of paradise...

...my lips found hers once again.

The bus ride home promised to be long, uneventful, and boring; but at least there were very few other passengers here in the back...

...although not so few that the two of us could sneak in a little kissing...

...so instead, we sat quietly...

...Sam with her head resting on my shoulder...

...until suddenly, something under the seat in front of hers caught her eye.

Without warning, she dived forward and downward...

...but soon re-emerged, holding a recent copy of_ 'The Inner Self'_.

I know that from the title, this sounds like a magazine devoted to transcendental meditation, but it's not...

...it's actually a men's underwear catalog.

Looking from it to me and smiling mischievously, Sam asked, "Hey, Carls, are you up for a round of_ 'Real or Stuffed'?_'

And, since there was absolutely no other form of entertainment available, I replied, "Sure, why not?"

To the un-initiated (a/k/a the Rest of the World),_ 'Real or Stuffed?' _is an amusing little game that Sam and I came up with one day, when we happened to pass through the Men's Underwear section of a huge department store. The rules are simple: When you see a picture of a male model wearing just underwear, you try to determine if it's 'all him' or if he's got any uh..._anything else_ in his shorts for 'visual enhancement'.

Anyway, neither of us having had any first-hand experience with 'a real one', our answers were always pure speculation, and we always had a good laugh...

...and since this particular catalog was almost eighty pages long, we ended up laughing all the way home!

It was nearly ten pm when we got back to my apartment, so Sam eagerly accepted my invitation to stay the night. After we'd raided the fridge, I sent her off to shower first while I finished tidying the kitchen.

When I finally got upstairs the bathroom was empty, so I took a long, leisurely shower. After drying off, and picking up her dirty clothes...

_...which she'd casually strewn __a__ll over the floor__..._

_..._I wrapped myself in a towel and headed into my bedroom; to find her already sprawled on my bed, with damp but neatly-brushed hair; dressed in a clean T-shirt and boxer shorts.

Walking over to my dresser, I sneaked a peek into my mirror...

...to see Sam's eyes riveted on me...

...and so I wasn't surprised to find myself blushing self-consciously as I removed my towel and put on a pair of white silk panties, and a light blue T-shirt with a huge cupcake on the front (my last birthday gift from her). I usually wear a nightshirt to bed and I'm pretty sure that she noticed this variation in my outfit, because when I sat down on the edge of the bed, she asked, "Aren't you cold?"...

...as she held out her arms...

...and moving into them I replied, "No. Not anymore."

At these words, she smiled warmly and pulled me close to her.

After settling into her embrace, I turned my face against her neck and began to nuzzle it; realizing as I did...

...that I love the smell of 'freshly-scrubbed Sam'...

...especially when she's just showered using my _Seascape_ soap...

...which features a clean, zesty scent that's reminiscent of an ocean breeze...

...not too flowery, and not too girly...just like Sam.

Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, and in an instant I was transported right back to to the seaside...

...standing on its wide beach...

...listening to the roar of the Pacific Ocean...

...watching the surf crash and cascade breathtakingly over the rocks of the North Jetty...

...while she squirmed underneath me and squealed in a very un-Sam-like way, "Hey! You're tickling me!"

"Sorry."

With an affectionate and forgiving smile, she leaned back...away from my inquiring nose...and placing a hand on my cheek, she gently maneuvered my head down onto her chest...

...and I lay there in complete contentment, listening to cute way that she was struggling to breathe evenly...

...while her rapidly-beating heart scandalously and completely betrayed her.

Presently, I felt her lips on my forehead and heard her ask, "What are you thinking about?"

I immediately decided against admitting that I'd almost asked her the same question, but had chickened out...

...already knowing _full well_ what her answer would be(!)...

...so instead I replied, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

I tilted my head back and looked at her. "Are you sure? I don't want you to be mad at me."

"I'm sure, Cupcake," she answered without hesitation. "And I promise not to get mad."

With a nod I began, "Um...remember our little game earlier...you know..._Real of Stuffed?"_

"Uh, yeah," she answered...

...slowly and uncertainly...

...and I took a deep, shaky breath.

I had to know.

"Well," I continued, "I know that you told me you've never, uh...been with anyone...and I was wondering, since you've_ dated _guys before...if you're at all curious as to what it would be like to...to _sleep_ with one."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Sleep with a guy? _Me?_"

Not trusting my voice to remain steady, I merely nodded...

...and she frowned. "I'm not bi...if that's what you're asking."

"Well, have you ever _considered_ trying it?" I repeated, not really looking at her...

...as I very nervously awaited her answer.

"No...I haven't," she replied without hesitation. "I have no interest at all."

And at this assurance, I breathed more easily...

...until she asked, while sounding equally as nervous as I'd just been, "H-have _you _ever...w-wanted to?"

I didn't have to think about my answer. "No...I'm not bi either. I've made out with a few guys, but it just...it just doesn't feel right to me."

Visibly relaxing, she looked thoughtful for a long moment...

...and I relaxed too...

...until she asked, "Does _this_ feel right?"

Before I could figure out what she was referring to...

...she suddenly leaned forward and made answering her question a physical impossibility for me...

...because my lips were suddenly and totally otherwise prioritized.

Conversation was completely out of the question for the next few minutes; but then, just as I was about to force myself to break away so I could assure her that it did indeed feel very,_ very_ right...

...she slid her hands under the front of my shoulders, and seconds later, I found myself lying on my back...

...with her body stretched out flat against mine...

...but when she saw the fearful way I was looking up at her...

...she shook her head. "Shh. It's okay. It's not what you think...I promise," she whispered...

...in a way that left no doubt in my mind that she was being completely truthful...

...and I relaxed a little...

...until her lips found my neck; and, as she kissed me there...

...slowly and repeatedly...

...I shivered, as my stomach made another deep, swooping motion...

...and as I felt a strange, new, and overwhelming sensation seize me...

...down between my legs...

...and even though I knew that I wanted to wait to be intimate with her...

...I also knew that I couldn't wait to experience that feeling again...

...but stealing a glance at my alarm clock and seeing the lateness of the hour, I realized that it was now time to call it a night; so before I began to second guess both myself _and_ my decision, I reached up and over and turned the table lamp off.

Almost immediately, Sam lowered her head, resting her cheek against the front of my left shoulder. "Goodnight, Carls," she murmured...

...sounding more than a little disappointed.

Clearly, she had been hoping for more.

Reaching up, I tangled my hand in her hair andreplied, "Good night, Sammie. I love you...you do believe me...don't you?"

Almost immediately, she nodded...

...and I sighed silently in relief. "That's good, because I do..._so very much_," I replied, sliding my right hand up under her T-shirt...

...and then, as she lay there in unhappy silence...

...I began rubbing her back...

...in a slow, gentle, affectionate, consolatory way...

...until sleep overtook us both.

**April 6th:**

The bedroom was still pitch-black when I opened one eye a crack and looked - with sleep-blurred vision - at the dimly-lit display on my alarm clock.

5:53 A.M.

At that moment, Sam shifted restlessly in my arms, and smiling contentedly, I pulled her closer to me...

...and even though I realized that I had woken up for some specific reason, I soon forgot what that reason was...

...because suddenly, I felt the desperate necessity to not let go of Sam...

...and as she sleepily nuzzled my neck, I closed my eyes again.

Two hours later, I regretted not trying to remember what that reason was.

The moment I opened my eyes again, I felt it.

And when I hurriedly slid out from under Sam and off the bed, I _really_ felt it...

...and stopping only to grab clean panties from my top dresser drawer, I hurried to the bathroom...

...trying to outrun the wetness that was steadily leaking out of me.

Less than a minute later, as I sat peeing, I looked downward...

...into my panties.

Damn! What a mess! And almost a week early..._again!_

With a sigh, I quickly got undressed and headed for the shower.

Just as I was drying off with a dark towel, the bathroom door burst open...

...and Sam ran inside, wild-eyed. "Help! Tampons! Advil! _Now!" _she yelled.

"Oh, no, Sam...not you too!" I moaned.

With only a curt nod of confirmation, she turned away from me and began ripping frantically through the vanity drawers, looking for the box of tampons that I always keep there for her. Finally, she located it...right next to my maxi pads. She pulled a tampon out of the box and, setting it on the edge of the vanity, she bent down again and plunged her hand into the package of pads.

"Here, need one of these?" she asked, tossing it in my general direction.

Leaning down and picking it up off the floor (I'd missed the catch), I replied, "Uh, thanks."

"God, this sucks"! she replied, stripping off right in front of me (no complaints here) and, once she was completely naked, tossing her stained boxers into the sink full of cold water, where my panties were already soaking.

"Well, misery loves company," I replied, as I hurriedly and shyly wrapped the towel around me.

"That's easy for you to say, Carls," she scoffed. "You only have your period for two days...I have mine for five!"

"Yeah, well that makes you the lucky one," I informed her.

She stared back at me in stunned disbelief. "How the hell do you figure that?"

"Think about it, Sam...instead of five days, it comes gushing out in only two."

She stopped to ponder this. "Oh, well yeah. I...guess I never looked at it that way." She was silent for a moment. "Is that why you never use tampons?"

I nodded. "I wish I could...but it's too risky."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," she agreed.

Nakedly(!) rummaging around in the medicine chest, Sam soon found the Advil. After chowing two down, she held the bottle out to me. "Interested?"

"No, thanks," I declined politely. "I'll probably need them later though."

Blushing furiously, but realizing that I absolutely couldn't put it off any longer, I dropped my towel into the hamper, unwrapped the pad I was holding, attached it to my clean panties and pulled them up; noticing in the reflection of the bathroom mirror that Sam had been watching me...

...the entire time.

I couldn't be mad at her though...

...since she's never seen me completely naked before...

...so, who could blame her for wanting to look?

With a smile, I walked over to where she was standing and wrapped my arms around her...

...focusing on memorizing the thrilling new sensation of her body against mine...

...until seconds later, I was completely distracted by more swooping in the pit of my stomach...

...and several more, powerfully-overwhelming contractions down between my legs.

Judging by the way she suddenly shivered and tightened her arms around me, she didn't seem to mind the way we were pressed together either...

...not in the least...

...and so, I decided that it was time for a little sales pitch. With a smile I began, "Sam, I know you _love_ my white silk panties...

"Argh!"

"...just as much as I do."

Flinching sharply, she immediately looked away, so I gently turned her face back to mine, while adding, "Admit it, Sam."

Realizing that she was trapped (in more ways than one), she squirmed in my arms; but finally, after nearly a minute had passed, she nodded grudgingly in acknowledgment.

At this, I felt a jolt of excited anticipation pass through me and encouraged by her admission I continued, "Well then, since you like them so much, will you..._wear_ them sometime?"

"NO!" she immediately yelled...

...loudly and decisively...

...but I wasn't about to give up easily. "Please, Honey? For _me_? I'll bet you'd look so hot!"

She cringed at the thought and stood her ground. "There's _no way_ I'm going to do that," she declared.

Struggling to keep the disappointment out of my voice I asked, "Why not?"

"You know I_ hate _wearing girls' underpants," she reminded me.

I ignored her.

"Please...just this once?" I begged. " I have a couple of new pairs that I haven't even worn yet. The tags are still attached."

"No. Sorry, Carls, but it's never gonna happen," she stated flatly.

With a sigh and while doing my best to hide my disappointment, I turned away, walked over to the bathtub, and turned the shower on. As I approached Sam again, I forced myself to look directly into her eyes...

...instead of at her invitingly-naked body...

...and then I advised, "Take a shower...before you drip on the floor. I'll go get some clean clothes for you."

Instead of obeying, she just stood there looking at me...and sulking...

...so I smiled at her sympathetically. "I know. Periods and cramps are a real drag."

She didn't respond...

...but at least she didn't resist either as I took her arm and led her over to - and then into - the tub.

"Come on, get cleaned up and then we can be miserable...together!" I offered, while closing the curtain.

My prophecy soon came true...

...when, finally cleaned and dressed, we headed downstairs for breakfast...

...to find Freddie sitting at the kitchen table.

At the sound of our approaching footsteps, he looked up from his half-eaten bowl of cereal and smiled at me...

...both adoringly _and_ idiotically...

... but before he could even say 'hello'...

...Sam bellowed, "No way! Not today! I'm in no mood!"

His smile evaporated at once, and he turned to her in disgust. "What's wrong, Sam?" he asked. "Did your mom pass out drunk and totally naked in front of your friends..._again?"_

"At least I _have_ friends! And don't you_ dare_ talk about my mother that way!" she yelled indignantly.

"Why not? Everybody else does-ohmyGod!" he exclaimed, jumping up and running for his life...

...as Sam began chasing him in circles around the table, at break-neck speed.

On her fifth trip past me, my hand shot out and grabbed her arm; and then, with effort, I managed to maneuver her into her seat...

...at the opposite end of the table from Freddie was sitting.

She continued to struggle valiantly, even after her butt hit the chair.

"_Let Me At Him!"_

"Come on, Sam...drop it! The last thing we want to deal with today is _more bloodshed,_" I replied, while tightening my grip and giving her a Very Pointed Look.

With a horrified gasp, she whipped her head round in Freddie's direction; clearly worried that he'd caught the meaning behind my thinly-veiled statement...

...but his eyes were now back on his cereal...

...his mind however, was still on verbal abuse. "Sam, it's Sunday. It's _God's_ day. Why don't you try reading the Bible...for once in your life?" he suggested, more than a little condescendingly.

She wasted no time in replying, "Hey, Fred-freak, speaking of the Bible, I saw your name mentioned in there recently...something about the_ Jawbone _of an_ Ass_!"

His head snapped upward. "_You're_ an ass!" he exclaimed, shooting her a filthy look.

"_Kiss my ass!_" she countered.

He flung his spoon down. "You're_ All Ass__..._I wouldn't know where to start-OW!" he yelled...

...as Sam threw half an orange right into his face.

Partially blinded by the juice, he immediately stumbled out of his chair, while raising his balled-up hands to rub his eyes...

...and Sam (believing that she was being challenged to a fight) jumped to her feet at once, while doubling up her fists to _blacken_ his eyes...

...and I sprang from my chair, grabbed her shoulders, and (after a brief scuffle) managed to push her back down into her seat.

As I stood behind the chair, restraining her/doing my best to avoid her wildly-flailing arms, Freddie yanked his shirttail up and used it to wipe his citrus-blurred eyes...

...and then, while muttering something about Sam's mom copulating with numerous, assorted farm animals...

...and Sam being the result...

..._and _that this was 'Far From Over'...

...he stomped out the front door.

Upon hearing this last insult, Sam tripled her efforts to rise from her chair; but I leaned down and grabbed both her upper arms. "Sam. Let. Him. Go."

"But...but-" she began...

...and, eager to end this altercation without investing further time and/or effort, I quickly turned her around in the chair and shot her '_The Look'_.

She let him go.

As soon as we'd finished eating, I stacked the breakfast dishes neatly in the sink, took Sam by the hand, and led her straight back upstairs...

...and into my room.

She put up no struggle as I led her over onto the bed, laid her on her back, and sat down next to her on the mattress; but when I unzipped the front of her shorts and pushed them, along with her boxers, way down past her hips, she laid both of her hands over mine and asked, "Carls, what are you doing?"

"Stretch out your legs for me," I directed...

...but instead of complying, she tried to sit up. "No, I'll be okay...rea-"

"Shh," I answered, reaching forward and resting my hands against the front of her shoulders.

"But I don't wan-" she continued.

"Shh...let me," I insisted, gently pushing her onto her back again and reaching down to her lower abdomen.

With a resigned sigh she closed her eyes tightly and, seconds later, she was moaning softly as I began to rub her swollen stomach.

After several minutes of allowing me to gently caress her in complete silence, she asked, eyes still closed, "What...no four hour-long lecture on the evils of Fred-dunce abuse?"

I shook my head. "Shh. I know you're hurting...it's the reason why you're so cranky today," I answered in a low, calm voice. "So just try to relax for me."

At these words, she opened her eyes; and, as I saw the way they were looking up at me...

...and the silent question they were asking...

...I smiled despite myself, and then inquired, with utmost goodwill, "Would you like something else to focus on...besides your cramps?"

After a moment's hesitation, she nodded...

...and moving my hands from her stomach, I gently took her face between my palms as I leaned forward and kissed her.

Less than a minute later, she reached up and, sliding her hands behind my shoulders, she pulled my body down...

...directly on top of her own.

"Aren't I squishing you?" I immediately asked with concern.

She shook her head. "No. Believe it or not, the pressure actually feels good."

Relieved and with a nod, I relaxed my body, allowing its full weight to rest against her; and as the two of us sank down lower into the mattress, I closed my eyes and turned my full attention back to her lips.

It was time well spent.

Some time later, I came up for air and opened my eyes again to find her looking up at me; and I was surprised to see regret (of all things(!) reflected in her own.

I was even more surprised when she said slowly, "Carls, I know that I...well...I shouldn't have hit him in the face with that orange."

I merely nodded. She was still in way too much pain for me to criticize her.

I was expecting her follow-up comment to be something along the lines of how tragic it was that she'd wasted perfectly good food on Freddie; so imagine my astonishment when she said instead, "When I see him again, I'm going to to...you know-"

She paused...

...for a very long time...

...until finally, she was able to make herself admit, "You know...the...the _'A' _word."

And suddenly, I felt all warm and gooey inside.

"Aw...Sam! You will? _Really? _That's so...so...I love you.._.so much!_" I exclaimed...

...and, with a highly-embarrassed smile, she pulled me closer to her...

...and buried her blushing cheeks deeply in my hair as we both closed our eyes again.

Almost nine hours later (menstruation drains you...in more ways than one), we both awoke ravenous; and having slept through lunch, we were both naturally looking forward to dinner. After knocking off most of a huge barbecued chicken that Spencer had thoughtfully roasted for us (before heading over to Socko's), Sam looked up from her caramel custard and asked, "So, what do you wanna do tonight?"

I frowned. "Well, it's not what I _want_ to do...it's what I _have_ to do."

"Okay," she replied agreeably. "What's that?"

Glancing down at my watch I replied, "Well, the pharmacy is still open for another hour...and I really need to buy more pads."

She clearly wasn't interested in the evenings 'entertainment' I'd planned, because she replied (sulking again), "Aw, Carls...can't it just wait until morning?"

"No, it can't," I assured her. "I just put my last one on...and you know I can't use tampons."

She still looked far-from-sold on a trip to the pharmacy, so after glancing over at the calender on my kitchen wall, I turned back to her and announced, "You know, I'm pretty sure that by now GVS has set up their entire display of gourmet Easter cand-

Without waiting to hear the rest of the sentence, she tore out of the kitchen...

...and less than fifteen seconds later, she was back, holding both of our jackets...

...and less than five minutes after _that_, she was practically dragging me down the street...through the slight drizzle of falling rain...toward Kensington Place...

...and the GVS mega-store.

No sooner had we stepped through the pharmacy's front door, then Sam began walking rapidly toward the Candy aisle...but I grabbed her arm.

"No. Business before pleasure," I stated flatly...

...while ignoring her frantic efforts to pull free. "Aw...come on!" she protested.

"No, Sam..._you_ come on. This will only take a couple of minutes," I insisted...

...and despite exhaling huffily (and repeatedly), she allowed me to drag her into the Feminine Hygiene Products aisle.

About halfway down the aisle, I suddenly stopped short, and turning to her I asked, "While we're here, do you need more tampons?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm good...for at least another month."

With a nod, I turned back to the massive display, which filled both sides of the ridiculously-long aisle and, after a bit of searching, I found what I wanted...

...an economy-sized package of _Scarefree Colossal Extra-Long, Super Plus, Heavy-Flow, Maximum Protection, Overnight Absorbency, Unscented Maxi-Pads_ (without wings).

Just as I had lifted it off the shelf I heard Sam moan and, looking up, I followed her line of sight...

...to see Freddie standing at the far end of the aisle, with an unopened bottle of lemonade in one hand and a new tube of Crust toothpaste in the other.

Of course, his eyes_ immediately_ clamped onto what I was holding...

...and like an embarrassed little girl, I _immediately_ hid the package behind my back...

...but it was too late...

...he had seen it.

Yes, I know what you're thinking, and even though I've been buying my own pads since I was twelve, and now it's normally not that big of a deal...it _suddenly becomes one_ when a boy you know sees you doing it...

...especially when that boy is madly in love/lust with you (even though he's vehemently and repeatedly denied the fact)...

...and when you've caught him in the past (on more than one occasion) prowling obsessively through your garbage.

Blushing profusely, I glanced over at Sam, who was looking at Freddie with grim determination as she psyched herself up to apologize.

Finally, she sighed audibly. "Oh well, I'm gonna go get this over with," she muttered in my general direction, before heading toward him; but before she had taken three steps forward...

...Freddie came hurtling up the aisle; coming to a full stop less than two paces from where Sam stood.

Planting his feet firmly on the floor in front of her, he said, entirely too loudly, "Look at this...Sam Puckett in the Feminine Hygiene aisle! Well, now I know exactly why your little outburst this morning was so much more obnoxious than usual...it's because _Sam's On The Rag!_" he finished...

...at least forty decibels louder than when he had started.

Clearly and completely stunned, Sam's jaw dropped; and within nanoseconds, every last shred of her uncharacteristically-noble intent to apologize to him was completely forgotten...

...and it was, once again, business as usual.

"Shut up Benson, or I'll kick your balls all the way up into your nostrils!" she snarled.

"See there you go again!" he sneered. "While you're in here, why don't you chow down several bottles of Mydol, you hormonal, bloated, crazy, cramped-up bitch!"

I spun around to face him. "Freddie! Don't talk to Sam that way!"

With his eyes still fixed on her in a death glare, he shot out of the side of his mouth. "Why not? She abuses me a lot worse than this...every day!"

"I don't care," I insisted. "Making fun of any girl's period is still uncalled for; so stop it."

He whipped his head around to face me. "What? I don't believe this! She started it...and now you're taking _her_ side?"

Obviously livid, Sam's hands flew to her hips as she shouted, "I said shut it, Benson...or I'll beat your sorry ass to shreds!" She immediately reached behind me and snatched my _huge_ package of_ huge_ pads from my hand; and then...

..._as I looked on in horror..._

_..._she brandished it in front of his face while yelling, "And we can use _these_ to mop up the blood!"

Suddenly remembering what he had just seen me holding, Freddie took a long look at the pads and then turned back in my direction and announced (to me_** and**_ to the entire store), "Oh, now I see why you're taking her side, Carly...it's because _You're On The Rag, Too!"_

He looked from me to Sam and then back at me, and announced, "Great. Now I have _'Stupid in Stereo'!"_

"Did you just call Carly _Stupid_?" Sam demanded, taking a menacing step forward.

He shot her a look of badly-concealed disgust. "News flash, Stupid...I also called _you_ stupid...you're just_ Too Stupid_ to realize it!" he snapped.

"Shove it, Loser!" she snapped back.

The right corner of his mouth curled into a sneer as he replied, "Sam, while we're on the subject of shoving things, I'd advise you to save one of those oversized pads to _shove_ into your fat mouth to silence you...preferably forever...but unfortunately, even if you used the whole box, it wouldn't be nearly enough!"

As an all-too-familiar expression of murderous rage crossed her face, Sam whipped her head around in both directions...

...to see the seventeen people who were currently staring at us...

...from both ends of the aisle...

...and (wisely) realizing that there were way too many witnesses...

...she flung my package of pads back toward me, furiously jammed her hands into her pockets, and spent the next two minutes staring at Freddie in homicidal silence.

"Finally!" he exclaimed with a smug smile "It's about time you _finally_ shut up!"

Apparently, this was too much for Sam...

_...Way Too Much..._

...and her hands were two blurs as she yanked them back out of her pockets. "If you don't like what I have to say, then stuff a couple of_ these_ into your ears...Jerkwad!" she yelled...

...snatching a box of _Sometimes Super Plus Tampons _off the nearest shelf and hurling them at his head...

...as hard as she could.

He ducked, and the box sailed harmlessly over his shoulder...

...and so - Now Way Beyond Furious - she immediately reached for another box...

...but thinking quickly, I dropped my package of pads, grabbed both of her arms, and wrestled them down to her sides.

Freddie responded to this turn of events with a cocky and triumphant smirk; and then, turning on his heel, he sauntered arrogantly to the end of the aisle. As the crowd parted, he stopped for a moment and addressed them all.

"You might want to stay out of Aisle Twelve for a few minutes," he advised. "Those two bitches are on the rag!"

Ignoring the resulting, stunned gasps of every single woman (and most of the men) in the group he continued, "You've heard of PMS? Well, in their case...the 'p' stands for _Perpetual..._and_ Permanent!"_

And then he was gone.

"Walk! Walk with me, Sam! Walk it off!" I urged, as I dragged her through the pharmacy's front door and out into the night.

"_**I'm going to kill him! I'm going to kill him for calling you a bitch!"**_she vowed at the top of her lungs, while turning abruptly on her heel and storming back toward the entrance.

Immediately and instinctively, I threw my body between her and the glass doors and, grabbing her shoulders, I spun her around again, and _then_ (with Herculean effort), I managed to push her back away from the building.

"Walk, Sam! Come on! Walk it off!" I repeated, listening to her breathing heavily with unbridled rage as I hurried her up the street as quickly as I could; in a dedicated attempt to raise her heart rate to an acceptable level congruent with her current high adrenaline output.

The instant Freddie had made that last remark, I knew that my shopping expedition with Sam was officially and indisputably over...

...and that I had to get her away from him...

...as fast and as far as I could...

...for his own safety.

We had stopped only long enough to pay for my pads.

By the time we got outside the rain had stopped, and the colorful street lamps and traffic lights glistened on the wet pavement as I quick-stepped her across the street. "Come on, we'll take a shortcut through Meridian Park," I suggested.

Once we were inside the park gates, I noticed that her fury seemed to have finally subsided, and so I allowed her to slow her pace slightly. A minute or two later, she reached over and, politely taking my GVS shopping bag from me, she stuffed it into her backpack.

"Thanks, Sammie," I said with an appreciative smile, "but I don't think any mugger is going to want those."

"This is Seattle...at night...so you can't be too careful," she replied in an almost comically-serious tone of voice, as she laid a hand on my arm and steered me into the right-hand path...

...the one which ended only four blocks from Bushwell Plaza.

After we'd walked in silence for several minutes, she stopped abruptly and, squinting through the heavy mist that hung around us she asked, "What's that glow over there?"

"Over where?" I asked turning in the general direction she was looking.

"Over there...where the new expansion is going to be," she answered. "What is it?"

"No idea," I replied, "but it's getting kind of la-"

"Come on, let's check it out. It'll only take a minute, " she interrupted, grabbing my arm and immediately changing direction...

...and, with a resigned sigh, I allowed her to drag me toward the park's North-West corner.

The two of us hadn't been over this way in ages, mainly because there's nothing to see on this long-abandoned and neglected tract of land that the city's public works department had recently acquired; intending to make it an extension of Meridian Park.

Less than two minutes later, we'd reached the spot; fully expecting to be greeted by the familiar sight of urban blight, overgrown with weeds and strewn with trash...

...but instead, we found the area to be neatly landscaped, and criss-crossed by several newly-laid cement paths...

...but what really caught our eyes was the half-dozen or so brightly-striped, half-erected tents on the now-well-illuminated grounds...

..._and_ as we looked up, the colorful, arched banner that stretched high over our heads, above the open, wrought-iron entrance gates.

*OSWELL'S ODDITIES*

Sam lowered her gaze from the banner and turned to me. "What's this supposed to be...a circus?"

I shrugged. "I don't know...it looks like one."

She smiled excitedly. "I've always wanted to go to a circus, but my mom would never take me."

I knew better than to ask why.

Her mother barely feeds her...so I'm well aware that she'd never bother spending money to take Sam out for any kind of entertainment.

So instead, I nodded and asked, "Okay then, would you like to go to this one...with me?"

"Yes, Carls...I'd love to!" she exclaimed...

...and I couldn't help but smile at her wide-eyed, child-like enthusiasm.

"Well then, it's settled," I replied. "You and I are going to the circus." I paused. "But...I haven't seen any promotional posters around the neighborhood yet, saying when it's supposed to open."

Sam craned her neck and looked inside the unlocked gates. "They're definitely not open yet; and I don't see any employees we could ask."

"Well," I began tentatively, "there_ is_ a light inside that big tent over there on the right...the one that's completely set up. Maybe there's someone inside who could hel-"

Without waiting for further encouragement, Sam immediately grabbed my hand and rushed me through the arch, and over toward the pink-and-blue striped tent. We were no more than four steps from it when she turned to me and remarked, "This seems to be the biggest tent of the bunch, but it's still kind of small for a main tent...so maybe this isn't a circus after al-"

She was interrupted by a loud, booming voice, and we both jumped back in surprise as it heralded, "Welcome! Step in! I have many treasures of antiquity that may strike your fancy!"

Suddenly apprehensive, I turned to Sam, but her curiosity (which I swear will be the death of her someday) won out.

She laid a reassuring hand on my arm...

...and before I could protest...

...she eagerly pulled me forward, through the tent's front entrance...


	2. Chapter 2

As Sam pulled me through the semi-open tent flaps the first sight to meet my eyes was a massive, elaborately-carved rosewood desk; and the man who was sitting behind it, on an equally elaborate, throne-like chair. Looking up, he smiled and waved us in; and as we approached the desk, I presumed that he had just been working, due to the sea of papers that was scattered across its surface.

As he stood to greet us, I used the opportunity to size him up. He looked to be about 50-ish, just over six feet tall, with a full head of silver-gray hair; and he was wearing a white wing-collar shirt with no tie, and dark gray pinstriped pants, held up by pink suspenders which were covered with Victorian art-inspired flying cherubs.

"Good evening," he said pleasantly. "Are you young ladies looking for jobs? Unfortunately, we're not hiring at the moment."

Rather than answering his question myself, I turned to Sam, expecting her to be our spokesman and to ask him for the deets on his carnival...

...but immediately saw that her attention was riveted to the heaping plate of fried chicken on the desktop, over near his right elbow.

After waiting patiently while Sam stared at the chicken for nearly a minute, he smiled at her benevolently and, appearing to read her mind he said,"I know, it's my favorite too. I was just about to have a late dinner, and, since you're_ obviously _hungry, would you two like to join-"

Before he'd finished the sentence, Sam was dragging a couple of extra chairs across the tent and over to the desk; but before she could lower her butt into either of them, I grabbed her upper arm.

"Oh, no you don't! At least have the decency to introduce yourself first!"

Ignoring the way she stuck her lower lip out at me in silent protest, I turned back to the gentleman on the other side of the desk and said, "I'm Carly Shay, and this is Sam Puckett...and you are...?

He extended his hand and shook both mine and Sam's. "I'm Anton Oswell, the founder of Oswell's Oddities...and our dinner is getting cold."

Sam needed no further invitation and, yanking her arm from my grasp, she flung herself into the nearest chair.

Mr. Oswell swept his paperwork over to one end of the desk, and then laid out 3 sets of rustic stoneware plates and mugs, and then three sets of knives and forks.

"Help yourselv-oops, too late!" he corrected himself in an amused tone of voice, as Sam dragged the platter of chicken toward herself and began to load her plate.

Even though I wasn't particularly hungry at the moment, when I heard Sam moan ecstatically through a mouthful of chicken, "Oh, God, Carls...this is sooo good!" I decided to take him up on his offer; and seated myself in the vacant chair beside hers.

From somewhere, Mr. Oswell produced a bowl of potato salad and a large pitcher of raspberry tea; and without further ado, Sam and I settled into our second dinner of the evening.

It seemed odd to be sitting there sharing a meal a complete stranger, so to break the ice I told him a little about Sam and myself...the school we went to...and all about iCarly (which he said he'd never heard of). By the time we'd finished dinner, I'd finished our biography.

"Well, that's our story. So...what kind of show or carnival do you have here?" I asked. "Sam and I haven't seen any posters or anything yet."

Setting his plate aside, Mr. O. reached down near his feet and then lifted a large cardboard box onto the desk. After rummaging through it a bit, he handed me a brightly-colored brochure.

"Here's one of my older advertising pieces. The new ones aren't back from the printer yet...but this one has all the information you need on it."

"Thank you," I replied sliding it – unread - into my handbag. Turning back to him I continued, "Sam and I are interested in coming back to check out your show, so when will you open...and how long are you going to be here?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, let's see, today is Sunday...and we'll be finished with the tents by Tuesday...and we're going to be here-"

He was interrupted by the sound of loud calliope music, and leaning over to one side, he fished a bright purple cell phone from his back pocket. He looked at it and then back at us and asked, "Will you ladies excuse me for a minute? I have to take this call. Please feel free to look around my office while I do."

Politely, Sam and I rose from our chairs and began meandering - separately – around the spacious tent; which was packed with all sorts of unfamiliar antique items and artifacts, artfully displayed; most of which seemed to suggest alchemy, and travels to the ancient Far East.

Stopping in front of a long, cluttered side table, I pointed to a large marble mortar and pestle, and called across the tent, "Look, Sam, you can use this in your meth lab!"

"Very funny,"she replied with a sarcastic smile...

...which I met with one of my own. I had just turned my attention to a large bronze hand bell, covered in weird engraved symbols, which sat to the right of the mortar and pestle, when I heard Sam say, "Hey, Carls! Come check this out!"

Turning in that direction, I saw her looking at something small and round in a glass showcase that stood against the tent's opposite wall.

Obligingly, I approached the case; and, leaning forward, I looked more closely...

...to see a genuine shrunken head staring back at me!

"Yuck!" I exclaimed, straightening back up immediately. "Sam! You find the most bizarre things fascinating!"

"Aw, what's the big deal? I think it's actually pretty cool," she replied...

...immediately opening the door of the case...

...and reaching inside!

"Stop that! You _know_ you shouldn't be touch-" I began...

...but it was too late. The thing was now out of the case...

...and in her hand!

She turned her attention from it to me. "Come on, Carls," she protested, "He said we were free to look around."

My hands flew to my hips. "Yes..._to Look_! That implies your eyes...not your fingers!" I reminded her. "Now put that creepy thing dow-"

"Hey, Carls..._catch!_" she said...

...suddenly tossing the horrible thing right at me!

Not wanting to touch it...

...but also not wanting to pay for it (possibly with my own head(?)...

...I reached out and caught the revolting thing with both hands...

...feeling every square inch of skin on my body crawl in revulsion as it landed, cold and clammy, in my open palms.

"Sam!" I yelled, in a very loud and infuriated whisper...

...becoming even more furious when I saw the bratty way she was smiling back at me. Tearing my eyes away from her for a moment, I sneaked a hasty and nervous glance over at Mr. Oswell, but he was still deep in his phone conversation...

...with his back (thankfully) turned to us.

Whipping my head (the one that's attached to my neck) back around, I immediately held the nasty, shrunken one out to her...

...at arm's length...

...but she jammed her hands into her pockets and replied with a smirk, "No thanks, Carls. I gave those up for Lent."

"But...you're not even Cathol...wait! What the hell am I saying?" I spluttered. "Now put this...this _thing _back where it belongs! Right now!" I demanded...

...but she just stood there, hands in pockets, smiling widely.

"Fine! I'll do it myself!" I retorted, fuming; and with a last, dirty look in her direction, I walked toward the glass case...

...and she jumped directly into my path.

Now more than a little annoyed, I stepped sideways, attempting to walk around her...

...but in no matter in which direction I moved, she kept blocking me with her body...

...over and over and over...

..until finally, my last gay nerve was shot. Taking a step straight forward and standing almost nose to nose with her, I demanded, "Stop behaving like a five year-old! This is_ not _a _request!_"

"Okay, okay..._Spoilsport!_" she replied in a sulking tone of voice, snatching the head from my hand. Waving it in front of me, she continued, "I don't see what the big deal is...it's not like we actually hurt the ugly old thi-"

Suddenly, she stopped speaking...

...when she saw the bizarre expression on my face...

...as I looked from the head's face to hers...

...and then, remarked slowly, "Have you noticed, Sam...that thing bears a striking resemblance to...to Freddie?"

I expected her to agree with me...

...with a hearty laugh, and several accompanying rude insults...

...but instead, I found myself cringing...

... as I watched the fury I had just rekindled by the mere mention of his name resurface on her face. Without a word, she looked down more closely at the head...

...and I could tell from her expression that she now clearly saw the resemblance...

...and I held my breath, waiting and dreading the distinct possibility of her flinging the head onto the floor and stomping on it, in a (mis-directed) retaliatory fit of rage.

But she didn't.

Instead, she looked back up at me and, breathing heavily, she began, "When I see that loser again, I'm gonna...!"

I lay a hand on her upper arm and began to rub it, attempting to calm her down, as I reminded her, "Come on, now, we just had an amazing chicken dinner. Don't tell me that you're in a bad mood again...just because of what happened at the pharmacy?"

She didn't answer in words, but her hostile expression told me all I needed to know; and now, feeling more than a little uneasy, I tried to tickle her...in an attempt to lighten the mood...but she stepped away from me with a scowl.

"Come on, Sam...how can you take anything Freddie says seriously?" I ventured.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" she snarled. "It's bad enough that he used to follow you around constantly...like a love-sick puppy; but now he's become...just plain.._.nasty!_"

"Well yeah-" I began...

...but she immediately cut me off. "I can't believe I was actually going to apologize to him! And don't bother asking me to forgive him either...because that's never gonna happen!"

Attempting to get her attention, I held my hand up...

...but she was on a roll. "He had no right to call you a bitch! Or to make fun of you...of either one of us...just because it's...that time of the month! It's bad enough we have to deal with all the dripping...and the cramps...and the-"

"I know, Honey...I know," I replied in a low voice, attempting to calm her. "It's just that...that..."

I paused for a moment, trying to figure out what to say next...as I heard Mr. Oswell back at his desk saying, "No, I think 500 of those will be enough."

Finally, I took a deep breath and explained, "Look, Sam, Freddie's been chasing desperately after me for years now. I guess that all the frustration of knowing that I'll_ never_ love him...and that he can_ never _have me...has finally taken its toll; and now he's acting juvenile and making fun of us for having our periods...out of petty spite."

Sam screwed her face up. "God, I hate my period! I hate _everything_ about it...especially that boys don't get it!"

I nodded sympathetically. "You're right. It doesn't seem fair that they-"

"They have it so easy! I swear to God, Carls...sometimes I wish I was a guy! Then I wouldn't have to deal with any of it...or listen to their-"

I reached down and took her free hand. "Look, Sweetheart, I know you're feeling awful because it's the first day of your period...so put the nasty shrunken head down; and then we'll go home...and if you're still having cramps, I promise I'll rub your stomach for you...all night long if you wan-"

Suddenly, we both stopped speaking...

...and stared at each other in horror...

...as we realized that we were discussing our periods - in detail - in front of a grown man.

A grown man who we didn't even know. Simultaneously cringing at the thought, we turned around...

...to see that Mr. Oswell had finished his phone call, and that he was now busy opening something that looked suspiciously like a bakery box...

...and, at that moment, Sam's expression of rage morphed into one of high anticipation, which meant that all of her rage at Freddie had been forgotten, at least for the moment...

...and, after carefully setting the_ fugly_ shrunken head into its case...

...she hurried back across the tent in search of dessert.

I followed her over and watched as Mr. Oswell set two huge, lavishly-iced cupcakes on his desk and then handed the other four - still in the box - to us...

...while Sam stared at him so adoringly that you'd think he'd just rescued her from a burning building.

"Thank You..._So Much!_" she exclaimed.

Mr. Oswell smiled. "You're welcome. Will I see you on Tuesday?" he added...

...but at that moment her mouth was full and, even though she answered him, I have no idea what her reply actually was.

Apparently, neither did he, but he glanced down at his watch and announced, "You know, it's almost eleven o'clock. Are you ladies heading home? If you are, I'll be happy to call a cab for y-"

"No thanks...not necessary," Sam replied rapidly, her mouth finally free...

...and, before she could take a second bite, I turned and placed a restraining hand on her hand.

"Mr. Oswell _is_ right, Sam. It's late, and we can always come back on Tuesday."

She opened her mouth to reply, but I was taking no chances that her opinion might not match mine; so, after thanking Mr. Oswell profusely for his hospitality, and promising to return soon...

...I grabbed the box of cupcakes with one hand - and Sam with the other - and promptly hauled her ass out of the tent.

As we passed back under the banner at the front entrance, she suddenly reached out, grabbing the wrought-iron arch with one hand, and the bakery box with the other...

...and held onto both for dear life...

...and I yielded. Sam's a fast eater, so letting her finish her dessert right away would only delay our arrival home by another five minutes max. Less than a minute later, we stood facing each other, leaning against the opposite sides of the archway, munching contentedly.

They were every bit as delicious as the chicken had been.

A few minutes later, as Sam tossed the empty box into the nearest trash can, I noticed a definite improvement in her mood; because she actually smiled and held out her arm to me.

Without hesitation, I took it and, as we walked out from under the arch...

...her right sneaker made contact with something shiny and metallic, hitting it with such force that she sent it skittering up the path at least fifteen feet ahead of us.

Letting go of my arm, Sam ran forward and, as she leaned down and picked up what she'd just accidentally kicked, I hurried over to her and asked, "What is it?"

She squinted down at the object. "I can't tell," she replied, stepping under a nearby street lamp to examine it more closely.

Seconds later, she extended her palm. "Look. It's an _Owell's Oddities_ token."

I joined her under the lamp post and leaned down; and in the dim lamplight I saw the carnival's name embossed in high relief on the face of the large, slightly-battered bronze disk.

"Do you think he dropped it?" I asked. "Maybe it's valuable, and we should take it bac-"

"Nah. Let's save it. Maybe it will get us a free admission the next time we're here," she replied, and before I could argue, she had dropped it into the main compartment of her backpack.

It was just as well. It had been a long day and I was too tired for arguing...

...or much else for that matter.

Upon returning home, I found a note from Spencer, saying that he was spending the night over at Socko's..._again _(I wonder about those two(!)

I quickly accepted Sam's generous offer to let me shower first (apparently, she was planning to stick around for awhile...not that I minded). Anyway, I had just finished brushing my damp hair and was standing near my dresser, getting ready for bed, when Sam returned from the bathroom...

...completely naked...

_...and dripping water all over the rug..._

...and with a sigh, I took the nearly-dry towel from her hand and began to use it on her, from head to toe; making a mental note as I did to insist on her taking me out to brunch this coming Mother's Day...

_...and paying for everything herself..._

...since I'd more than earned it, due to the way I'm constantly taking care of her!

"Ha-ha, Carls! Stop it! That tickles!" she shrieked.

"Stop squirming! I'm almost finished," I replied, kneeling down and running the towel over her legs and feet.

Once she was dry, I tossed the towel into my bedroom hamper and, reaching into my already-open top drawer, I hopefully held out a pair of my white silk panties toward her.

"Please? For me? Just this once?"

She took a hasty step backward "No Way!"

"Come on, Sam," I urged, willing to be fair and equable, "I promise I'll wear a pair of your boxers if you'll-"

"Sorry Carls...nice try...but it's out of the question" she answered, and before I could continue our argument, she'd opened my second dresser drawer...

...and my sigh of disappointment was muffled as she pulled a clean T-shirt over my head.

However, that did little to hide the disappointment in my eyes, since my head soon emerged from the neck opening...

...but then, with an infuriating yet endearingly-bratty smile, she leaned forward and kissed me; and, after hurriedly pulling on a T-shirt and boxers, she picked me up in her arms and carried me over to the bed.

Still sulking, I immediately yanked the covers up over my head.

Still smiling, she immediately yanked them back down, but before I could protest...

...her lips were an inch from mine and she was whispering, "I love you, Carls...so much...you're my favorite girl in the whole world...and I'm so lucky! I love you even more than-"

I'm not sure what the rest of the sentence would have been...

...the only thing that I_ was_ sure of is that I couldn't possibly stay mad at her...

...and so, I leaned up and cut her off.

Several minutes later, she pulled back and looked at me, with the softest, most adoring expression in her eyes...

...one that I found impossible to resist; and so, with an exhausted smile I reached down and, taking hold of her left wrist...

...I slid her hand up under the front of my T-shirt.

All the way up.

I couldn't believe what I heard next.

"No, Cupcake. Not when you're tired. It wouldn't be fair."

God, I Love This Girl!

The last thing I remember is her rolling us over...

...and her left shoulder against my cheek...

...and her lips against my forehead.

**April 7th:**

The first thing I remember is the alarm clock on my nightstand, glowing softly in the hazy gray illumination of the early Seattle morning light.

7: 26 am.

The next thing I remember is feeling cold...and soon realizing the reason for this: Sam and I had somehow separated during the night.

She seemed to sense it too, because seconds later, I felt her shifting uncomfortably behind me, at the far edge of the bed. Turning over onto my left side, I lay watching her, with her eyes closed, reaching out sleepily with both arms...

...in all directions.

Aw! That's so cute! She's trying to find me!

Not wanting to prolong her agony (or mine), I immediately slid across the bed and, wrapping her wandering arms around myself, I curled up next to her body; but apparently, that wasn't enough, because, with eyes still closed, she tightened her arms around me and pulled me over and across, until I was lying directly on top of her.

Turning my head to one side on the pillow (to avoid suffocation) I laid my cheek against hers, noticing as I did how cold she felt, even though we had the covers over us. And then, even though no further confirmation of her body temperature was necessary, I extended my right leg downward fully, and gasped softly when I felt her cold feet against my warm one.

As I did, she shivered in her sleep and, deciding right then to warm her up...

_...and as quickly as possible..._

...I stretched out flat and laid the full length of my body against hers; while strategically positioning one of my knees between her legs, attempting to get into a position that wouldn't squish her completely...

...and, as I did, I paused...

...surprised at what I suddenly felt against my bare knee.

Something big and soft.

Puzzled, I shifted my hips to one side, and slid my hand down, on the outside of her boxers, far down between her partially-open legs...

...and was more than a little surprised at the huge bulge that I found between them.

It felt completely dry, but I also noticed that it was very, very warm...

...and I knew then that I had to wake her up, so leaning over her, I whispered, "Sam?"

No response.

Removing my hand from between her legs, I stretched out on top of her again and tangled both of my hands in her hair. "Sam?"

"Hmm?" she mumbled...

...still 90% unconsciousness.

I leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Honey, I thought you told me last night that you had more tampons."

Long pause.

"Mm-hmm."

"Well, apparently you were mistaken...but it's okay, I don't mind if you use my pads," I assured her.

"Hmm?" she asked, still 80% unconscious.

I paused for a moment, completely confused. "But Sam...how can you wear them with boxers?"

Garbled mumble (to this day I have no idea what she said), but suddenly, an answer to my question occurred to me...

...a very exciting one...

...and I added, "Oh, I see. I don't care if you borrow them. Feel free to anytime!" I exclaimed...

...and, as I did, she opened her eyes a crack.

"W-what wuz zat?"

"I don't care if you borrow my panties," I repeated, with a very wide smile...

...and suddenly, she was 100% awake.

"Argh!"

Wanting to be very sure that she didn't understand the very important invitation I'd just extended, I repeated, "I don't care that you're wearing my panties..."

"Argh! _Carls!"_

"...under your boxers, but I woke you up because you need to change."

Eyes now open fully, she stared up at me, obviously confused. "Change what? What are you talking about?"

"Your pad."

"Who? Why? What?" she demanded...

...and even though it seemed that further explanation should be completely unnecessary, I generously decided to break it down into detail for her.

"Honey, you're soaked. I know you're not used to wearing pads, but I just happened to notice that you have one on...and it feels really warm...which means that the inside is really wet...and I'm sure you don't want to leak, so you'd better go to the bathroom and put a clean one on...right away."

She was staring up at me like I had three heads. "I'm not wearing a pad," she answered, and suddenly her eyelids began to droop again. Suppressing a yawn, she added, "I'm exhausted, Cupcake. Now let's go back to slee-"

"Of course you're wearing one," I insisted, "I just felt it."

She shook her head. "I think you must still be half asleep, Carls," she answered, with a half-sleepy/half-amused smile, sitting up and pushing the covers off both of us.

As she did, the button on the front of her boxers suddenly came undone...

...and as it did, their fly gapped open...

_...wide open..._

...and when I saw what was now angling out of it...

...in a very prominent and jaunty, _'Good-Morning-World!_' kind of way...

...I screamed.

Loudly.

I have no idea what the expression on Sam's face was at that moment...

...because I couldn't tear my eyes away from her crotch.

As I mentioned before, I'd never actually met one 'in person', but there could be no doubt whatsoever...

...that the thing was freakin' huge!

Even the most bulging male underwear model's crotch (stuffed or un-stuffed) that I'd ever seen came _nowhere near_ to this thing in size.

And then, I heard her gasp, and before I could recover from my own initial shock...

...Sam dragged the front of her shorts all the way down...

_...right in front of me..._

...and I found now myself staring...

...in stunned horror...

...not only at her huge, inexplicable penis, but also at the large, equally-inexplicable testicles that were hanging below it!

It's a sight I will never, ever forget.

Every single aspect of it, from it's swollen, purplish, circumcised head...

...to its alarmingly-long length...

...to its disturbingly-sizable circumference...

...to its pinkish-beige, wrinkly, oversized scrotum...will be seared into my brain for all eternity.

I was so busy feeling stunned that I don't remember Sam yanking her shorts back up...

...but eventually, a series of loud, snapping sounds registered in my brain, and I looked up to see her slapping herself in the face...

...violently and repeatedly...

...as she chanted, "This is a dream...this is a dream...oh God, this is a dream..."

Alarmed, I reached up, grabbed her wrists firmly, and quickly dragged them away from her face; as she said in an incredibly shaky voice, while staring at me pleadingly, "C-carls...we're going to w-wake up n-now...okay?"

Unfortunately, I knew full well that we were already awake; and, realizing at that moment that I would give anything in the world not to have to tell her, I nonetheless replied, very slowly and very reluctantly, "S-sam...we're not asleep."

"Yes we are!" she yelled, clearly distraught and very near tears. "We _are_ asleep!"

"No, Honey," I insisted gently. "We're not."

And then, as the reality of the situation hit her, her features twisted themselves into a configuration of abject horror, and she flew up and off the bed, and tore down the hall and into the bathroom...

...locking herself in.

I swear I tried to get in, using every verbal and physical means that I could think of, but she refused to open the door. She also refused to speak to me at all, despite my repeated attempts; and so, I sat on the floor outside the bathroom, with my back against the cold plaster wall...

...and waited.

Nearly an hour later, I heard the toilet flush...

...but I didn't know whether to be relieved or alarmed that her penis actually...functioned.

Nearly two hours later, the sound of the door lock clicking open softly woke me up; and, cursing myself for having somehow dozed off, I lifted my head from my knees and immediately scrambled to my feet.

Nearly five (long) minutes later, Sam slowly opened the door...

...to see me waiting for her on the other side of it, with my arms wide open.

She just stood there...motionless...aside from her lower lip, which was trembling badly...

...but then, she quickly ducked under my right arm and hurried toward the bedroom.

Without hesitation, I turned and ran after her, soon coming face to face with another closed door...

...but at least she hadn't locked this one.

Entering the room, I saw her standing in the far corner of it...

...cringing like a trapped animal.

As I walked over to her slowly, smiling kindly, she slid down the wall; and stopping directly in front of her, I extended my hands downward.

She shook her head.

I reached over and caressed her cheek, but she yanked her face away from my hand and yelled, "Carls, no! Don't look at me! Or...or-"

"Shh. Come on, let's get up off the floor," I replied softly.

She didn't answer or move, so I knelt down next to her and tried to put my arms around her, but she immediately jumped to her feet and rushed toward the door.

I jumped up and followed and, reaching forward, I trapped her left hand between both of my own. Before she could pull free, I spun her back around and pulled her into my arms; and then, with them wrapped around her tightly, I half pushed, half pulled her over to the bed and set her down.

Kneeling on the floor in front of her, I looked up into her face and asked, "Sam...do you have any idea how this...how this hap-?"

She shook her head violently.

"Okay," I replied, as calmly as I could, "that's understandable...but I'm sure that there_ is_ an explanation for it...which also means that we can fix-"

"_How?_" she yelled suddenly, completely distraught. _"How can anybody fix this?"_

Deciding that this probably wasn't the best time for me to mention anything pertaining to sex-change surgery, I instead took both of her hands between my own. "Honey, I promise you that we _are_ going to fix it. And I'm sure that right after we've had a good breakfast, we'll be able to figure out the first step...together. So let's go downstairs and eat, okay?"

She lowered her eyes and shook her head...and this scared me.

My Sam...turning down food?

Realizing that not eating would only make matters worse, I pretended not to notice her refusal. Getting up, I walked over to my dresser, opened the 'Sam' drawer, and soon brought back a complete change of clothes.

Instead of taking them from my hands, she just sat staring at them, so I set them aside and lifted her chin; and as her gaze met mine I looked deeply into her eyes and said with every shred of conviction I could muster, "Come on, Sweetheart. Everything is going to be okay...I promise!"

At this, she screwed her face up and leaned forward, and I pulled her face against my chest; and, stroking her hair I said, "I promise, Sam...no matter what...okay?"

No answer.

I waited patiently and then, finally and without words, she slowly got to her feet and leaned against me. As she did, I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her as hard as I could, while ignoring the (thankfully) soft but still sizable bulge that was pressing forward...

...directly against my the front of my crotch.

She actually cried while trying to get dressed. Even though we went through every single pair of her pants and shorts that we found in my dresser, it was absolutely impossible to camouflage her huge penis which, even though it was completely flaccid, was pushing the front of everything she tried on...

..._way, way out. _

But suddenly (and fortunately), I had an idea. Grabbing my jacket and wallet, I pressed my lips against her tear-stained left cheek and announced, "I love you...and don't worry. I'll be right back."

And then, before she could demand an explanation, I was downstairs and rushing out my front door.

Less than thirty minutes later, I was hurrying back into the room, holding a shopping bag from _Stratford Menswear_, which is located about a block away from Bushwell Plaza.

She was still standing almost exactly where I'd left her, wearing just her boxers...

...and, instead of looking down at the very noticeable bulge in the front of them, I looked into her eyes and smiled, while she stared at the bag curiously.

"What's that, Carls?"

Immediately, I reached inside it...

...and held out a six-pack of DVB full-cut, white briefs.

She recoiled in horror. "Carls..._No!"_

I laid a reassuring hand on her arm. "Shh. I know. You're not the only one who thinks tighty-whities are ugly."

"No!" she repeated stubbornly and resolutely. "I _won't!"_

"Listen, I really think these will be an...improvement," I replied in a low voice. "Come on, just try them."

As I led her over to the bed, she didn't reply or resist...

...but when I reached down and tried to remove her boxers, she quickly blocked my hands.

"No! I don't w-want you to...to _look_ at it!"

"Shh. I promise I won't. Move your hands for me, Honey," I urged gently.

After less than a minutes' consideration (and much to my surprise), she did, and I put my arms around her waist.

"That's it. Just let me help you. Everything is going to be okay, that's it...good girl," I murmured, as I slowly pulled her boxers down...all the way to the floor.

The instant she had stepped out of them, I stood, wanting to make it very clear to her that I wasn't looking at her, uh..._'stuff'_. Retrieving the package of briefs from the bed where I'd dropped it, I opened it, pulled out one pair, and held them out to her.

She looked near tears as she took them from me.

I hugged her again. "Come on, it's going to be all right," I said softly. "You're only going to have to wear these for a little while...okay?"

As I did, she slowly lifted her eyes to mine, and at that moment, she seemed to understand and accept that I really was trying to help her...

...and, even though I know (from playing '_Real Or Stuffed'_ with her) that she absolutely hates briefs...especially white ones...she looked down at them in a resigned sort of way...

...and then, she looked inside, at the tag inside the waistband.

"I...I think you should have got a larger size."

I shook my head. "I deliberately bought a size smaller...for..._camouflage_."

She didn't respond, so I reached over and put my hands on her shoulders. "Come on, Honey...let me help you."

After a very long moment, she nodded slowly, and then she sat down on edge of bed and let me help her put them on.

Standing up again, she pulled them up over her hips; and then reached down between her legs...

...and, after watching her make a few 'adjustments'...

...I led her over to the mirror.

Right away I could tell that they were too tight on her, and therefore _had_ to be very uncomfortable, but at least her bulge now looked somewhat smaller.

I gestured toward her reflection. "See? That looks a little better."

She nodded silently...

...and sadly.

I took a deep breath. "So...how do they..._feel?_"

She squirmed and replied with a slightly pained expression, "They're...squishing me!"

With a sympathetic nod, I answered, "Just try them for a little while...and if they're really hurting you, then you don't have to wear them...okay?"

Without waiting for an answer, I walked back over to the bed, soon returning with her gray sweatpants. Wordlessly, she took them from me; and, after she'd put them on, we looked down...

...both of us relieved to see that, while her bulge was still noticeable, it was now definitely less obvious.

Still, she refused to come downstairs for breakfast, even after I had completely reconnoitered the area and reported back that we were absolutely alone; so I brought her a heaping tray of food; and then I spent the rest of the morning - and most of the afternoon - seated at the kitchen counter...

_...tearing the Internet apart..._

...determined to find the reason(s) why a girl might suddenly grow a full set of male genitalia.

Hour after hour I searched, stopping only to bring Sam soup and a sandwich for lunch (she still refused to leave the bedroom). Finally, I was forced to abandon my research when Spencer came home and started to make dinner.

As I entered the bedroom, I found her curled up in my window seat, with her arms wrapped around her legs and her forehead resting on her knees. Hearing the door close, she looked up at me in silence...

...but I could see her pleading expression clearly, even from all the way across the room...

...and, deeply regretting that I had no good news to share, I crossed to where she was and sat down next to her.

"C-carls?" was all she could say before her voice failed her completely...

...and then, with my heart twisting painfully in my chest, I looked back at her and shook my head. "Honey, I'm sorry...but there's nothing at all online about girls grow-"

Not waiting for me to finish, she covered her face with her hands and began to rock back and forth.

"Oh, God, Carls...I'm so scared!"

Leaning forward, I wrapped both my arms around her shoulders.

"Don't worry, I deleted the browsing history. Spencer will never know that we-"

"No. T-that's not what I m-meant," she replied.

"Honey, everything is going to be o-" was as far as I got...

...before she broke away from my embrace and scooched backward as far as she could, saying, "No! No, it_ isn't _going to be okay...and you know it! So j-just_ say _it, Carls!"

"Say...what?" I asked, now thoroughly confused.

Her lower lip was trembling badly. "Just g-give me my pain now, so I can leave."

"Leave? What are you talking about?" I replied, reaching over and laying a hand on her arm.

She shook it off.

"I kn-know that you're only trying to be nice...that's the kind of p-person you are. But I know that you're n-not going to want to...to stay with me _now!_"

I stared at her...in total disbelief. "What? _Sam!_ How can you even say something like th-"

"Because it's true!" she interrupted. "You know it is! I know you're going to find a way to break up with me now that I'm a ...fr-freak!"

And, at that moment, I realized - with a rapidly-sinking heart - what needed to come next...

...and I hated it...

...both _what_ I had to say and _how_ I had to say it...and so, to keep our mutual agony to a minimum, I plunged right in.

"Sam, that's really insulting! It's worse than..than _anything_ you've ever said to Freddie!"

My words had the desired effect, and she stared back at me...

...completely stunned.

"Wh-what do you mean C-car-"

Not letting her finish, I grabbed the front of her T-shirt with both hands and dragged her face over to mine. "Now you listen to me, Sam, and you listen _Very Carefully_. I'm absolutely disgusted that you think I'm such a shallow and superficial person that my love for you...and my decision to be with you...could ever be dictated by what's between your-"

And she burst into tears.

Which was exactly what I had wanted, because I knew that it meant release, which meant that her wall was down...

...and that I could now help her.

Pulling her close, I began to rock her.

"C-c-carls!"

"Shh," I whispered.

"I'm s-s-o s-s-s-orry!"

Reaching up, I laid my fingers across her mouth. "Sam, that's not necessary. I don't want or need an apology...but if you really want me to believe that you really are sorry..."

She nodded vigorously against my shoulder.

"...well, if you are, then stop being so withdrawn and let me help you. If you do, as my part of the bargain, I promise that I'm never, ever going to leave you...do you understand me?"

I moved my hand away from her hand so she could answer, but instead of speaking, she swallowed hard and then nodded again.

"Good girl," I answered. "Now, even though we have no idea how this happened...or _why_...I'm sure that we can fix it. And the first step is to determine...um, uh...forgive me for asking this question, but...well, I just want to make sure you, uh...do you have any interest in...I mean, have you considered...keeping it?"

Her head left my shoulder and, leaning back, she stared at me in slack-jawed horror. "NO! I d-don't w-want it!"

Heaving a silent sigh of relief, I nodded and answered, "Well then, that takes care of Step One. Step Two is to figure out who's the best doctor to...to perform the sur-"

Immediately and protectively wrapping her arms around herself, she blurted out, "No! I don't want to go to _any_ doctor! I don't want anyone else to _ever _find out ab-"

Laying a hand on her shoulder, I pointed out as gently as possible, "Sam, I don't think we have any choice here. If you want that thing to...to go away...then we're going to have to let a professiona-"

I stopped short when I saw the look on her face. She was clearly terrified, and so I decided to let the matter drop for the moment. Glancing at my watch I asked, "Honey, why don't we talk about this later? Dinner's about ready by now."

I'm not hungry," she replied...

...as her stomach growled loudly.

I pretended I hadn't heard.

"Just come down...for a little while. You don't have to eat if you don't feel like it...I promise," I said encouragingly; confident that once there was a plate full of food in front of her, she'd eat.

"W-what about Spencer?" she asked, twisting her hands anxiously in her lap. "I don't want him to s-see-"

I placed a hand over hers. "Sam, you know as well as I do that Spencer lives on a planet of his own. I'm sure he won't notice anything."

At this, she looked up at me...hopefully.

"It's going to be okay, Sweetheart," I repeated, giving her hands a squeeze.

To be completely honest, I could easily have just brought dinner upstairs for her, but I decided against it, since I was determined to gradually get her to be comfortable around others, despite her current..._state_. After all, she couldn't hide from the rest of the world from now until her corrective surgery. And so, standing up, I extended my hands.

After nearly a minute's hesitation she took them, and I pulled her up against me. With a shaky sigh, she buried her face against the front of my shoulder...letting me hug her tightly. I'm not sure how long we stood there but eventually, and without a word, she let go of me; and, taking her by the hand, I led her downstairs.

We got through dinner with no problems, just as I'd promised. Spencer was completely oblivious to his surroundings, babbling on and on about how the mayor had called him that morning, expressing interest in possibly commissioning a piece of sculpture...

...and Sam was completely oblivious to her surroundings, because Spencer had made Chicken Fettuccine Primavera, which she absolutely loves. Fortunately she still had an appetite, and I was greatly relieved when she finished two huge servings of pasta and a sizable bowl of Daagen Hazs chocolate ice cream.

Spencer's plans to wash the dishes right after dinner were instantly abandoned when I informed him that three new, back-to-back episodes of Girly Cow were about to air on Mick O'Lodeon; so after clearing the table and stacking everything in the sink, he joined Sam and me in the living room.

I spent the next hour-and-a-half sprawled next to Sam on the couch, sneaking occasional peeks at her out of the corner of my eye; and was highly relieved to see that, instead of continuing to focus on her problem, she was totally engrossed in the show...and even laughing a little.

When the final episode's closing credits began to roll, Spencer got up from his chair.

"I'm going to grab another ginger ale. Do you guys want anything?" he asked.

"No thanks," I answered, and Sam shook her head.

As soon as he left, I had an unexpected surge of inspiration and, leaning forward, I bent Sam's knees, moved her bare feet up onto the edge of the coffee table, and gently spread her legs far apart.

"Carls, what are you doing?" she hissed

"Shh. Nothing. Just a little experimen-"

My explanation was cut short when Spencer returned from the kitchen...

...soda bottle in hand.

As he approached his chair, something suddenly caught his eye, and swiveling to his left...

...with a look of utter disbelief on his face...

...he stared down at the lower half of Sam's body...open-mouthed...

...while she stared up at him in terror.

Finally, he spoke. "Sam?"

At the sound of her name she cringed, clearly expecting the worst...

...as he continued, "How many times do I have to remind you to keep your feet off the furniture?"

Without waiting for an answer, he left the room, and she and I smiled at each other broadly and triumphantly.

"See? I blurted out. You have absolutely nothing to wor-"

My explanation was cut short when Spencer returned from his bathroom...

...Advil bottle in hand.

Approaching the couch, he handed it to her and announced, "Here. I hope this helps. I don't think we have any Mydol."

She sat staring back at him...

...shocked...

...while he smiled apologetically, and gesturing toward her crotch, added, "Sorry, I couldn't help noticing the-"

Not waiting to hear the rest, she burst into tears and flew up off the couch...

...and before I could stop her, she had torn across the living room and up the stairs.

Spencer just stood there, mouth hanging open, staring at the spot where she'd just been sitting; finally saying in complete bewilderment, "Sam? _Crying? _Sam _never_ cri-"

Jumping to my feet I yelled, "Spencer! How can you be so insensitive?"

"I...I was only trying to help," he replied, sounding both hurt and defensive.

"Help? How could that possibly help her?" I demanded.

To his credit, he did look genuinely remorseful as he explained, "Sorry, Kid...but I'm sure she has cramps because of the ongoing, pained expression on her face...and from the way she's been shifting uncomfortably in her seat all evening...and I know for a fact that it's her heavy flow day, because she's obviously wearing a huge-"

I snatched a pillow from the couch and threw it in his direction while shouting, "Stop it! Right now! You shouldn't have said anything to Sam! You know how emotional girls can get when they have..._plumbing issues!_"

With a look of sympathetic compassion on his face, he dropped his gaze to the floor and nodded.

"Please tell her that I'm really sor-"

I didn't wait around to hear the rest.

Fortunately, my bedroom door was unlocked.

As I closed it behind me, I found her lying he face-down on my bed...

...bawling.

I sat down beside her and dragged her up into my arms.

"Shh," I said but, as expected, she was inconsolable And besides, what can you possibly say to someone in a situation like this?

It was no good. I was going to have to wait it out...

...and so, I let her cry herself quiet.

Once she had, I brought back a damp washcloth from the bathroom and, after cleaning her up, I sat down next to her and pulled her over into my arms again.

Looking directly into her eyes, I began, "You know that I love you."

Looking too exhausted to argue (whatever her beliefs at that moment might have been), she nodded.

"And you know that I only want what's best for you," I continued.

"Y-yes," she answered shakily.

"Then please let me try to help you...by taking you to the doc-"

"No!" she yelled, trying (unsuccessfully) to pull away from me.

Tightening my arms, I took a deep breath. "Sam, as horrible as this situation is, we have to be realistic here...and realistically, there's really only one other alternative...do you want to, you know...keep it?"

"You_ know_ I don't!" she blurted out.

I nodded understandingly. "Well then...then we have to get this...taken care of," I replied as gently as I could...

...but, still unwilling, she leaned forward against my shoulder.

"N-n-n-o. Please, d-don't make m-me," she sobbed, and I decided to drop the issue for the moment. She had suffered enough for one day. Maybe she'd be more willing to consider my advice in the morning, I thought as I laid her down on her back and untied the drawstring of her sweatpants.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

"Shh. It's bedtime, Honey," I replied, slowly pulling them down her legs and then off.

To my surprise, she didn't resist, and as she closed her eyes, I looked down at the way her too-tight briefs were squeezing her body...

...especially around her crotch...

...and, realizing how uncomfortable she must be, I got up, soon returning from my dresser with a pair of boxers. Sitting down next to her, I curled my fingers into the waistband of her briefs...but before I could pull them down, she grabbed my hands.

"Carls, no!"

"It's okay," I answered softly. "I'm just going to-"

"I...I don't want to!" she blurted out.

I laid a reassuring hand on her arm. "Sam, I know they're uncomfortable for you. I know you'll feel so much better if you change your underpan-"

"No!"

I paused to consider her reluctance. "Is it because you...don't want me to see? I won't look while I help you change...I prom-"

"I don't want you to!" she persisted.

This was confusing.

"But Sam...I know you hate wearing them. Would you rather have me turn my back...and then you can do it yoursel-"

"No!"

"I know, why don't we just put your boxers on _over_ your br-"

"Please! Just leave me alone!" she answered, turning away.

I gave in. The room was warm enough that she could sleep in just her T-shirt and underpants; and I realized at that moment that, even though her briefs were painfully tight, that she was going to continue wearing them from now on...

...desperately wanting and trying to make herself look as small as possible.

She had turned away from me, but I wasn't done with her yet. Gently rolling her over onto her back again, I said, "Listen, we have two whole weeks off from school; so just take your time with this...as much time as you need...and then, when you're ready, I want you to tell me...and I'll take you to the doctor."

Lower lip trembling, she sat up and pressed her face against my shoulder, and I tightened my arms around her.

"Don't worry, Sweetheart. I'll be right in there with you."

She shook her head violently. "No! I don't want to go! I don't want to...to end up in some medical journal...as a_ freak!_"

I pulled back and looked directly into her eyes. "I won't let them do that to you...I promise." I paused for a moment, and then added, "And don't_ ever_ call yourself that name again! I think you're beautiful...I always have and I always will."

"Y-you're just saying that, Carls," she argued. "You freak out over anything that isn't n-normal. You even freak out when someone says the word 'bowels'."

Biting back the obvious, but counter-productive truth that she's exactly the same whenever someone says the word 'panties', I leaned forward, lowering her onto her back again; while her eyebrows shot up in surprise...

...as I moved my hand - quickly and without warning - far down between her legs.

Immediately, she began to struggle, but I threw my body sideways across her chest, forcing her to remain where she was.

"Sam, hold still!" I demanded...

...as I carefully yet deliberately cupped my hand firmly around the soft yet sizable bulge that I felt on the other side of her underpants...

...while she stared at me...clearly shocked.

"See? I don't think you're weird," I insisted...

...and before she could protest, I leaned forward and kissed her, with everything I had in me...

...all the love and passion and compassion that I felt for her in my heart.

To be completely honest, it's safe to say that neither of us had sex on our minds at the moment. She was in desperate need of reassurance...

...and I desperately needed to reassure her...

...and, in less than a minute, she was kissing me back, lovingly and gratefully.

While she did, I kept my hand where it was...

...refusing to move it in the slightest, even though I was more than a little un-nerved as I felt her penis unmistakeably beginning to stir under it.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, she rolled me over onto my back, which was okay, because it provided me with an excuse to move my hand away; and I did, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her body down onto mine.

She was staring down at me like she had something to say, but I didn't let her. There would be time for conversation tomorrow.

Tilting my head up and hers down, I resumed kissing her...

...not protesting, even as her hands began to explore my chest and the outside of my thighs...

...even though I realized that this wasn't the way I wanted things to be, and that I wasn't ready to go that far yet...

...especially not when a penis is involved.

She remained oblivious to everything except kissing and caressing me, and suddenly, I felt the change in her body; and from the way her bulge was pressing firmly against my leg, I could tell that she was becoming more than a little aroused...

_...and that really scared me..._

...but I soon realized that I don't give Sam enough credit sometimes...

...because, at that moment, she rolled off my body and onto her back, with her eyes closed...

...and with a look of incredible frustration on her face.

Immediately, I looked down at the huge, granite-hard bulge between her legs, and at the way it was straining painfully against the inside of her already-too-tight briefs...

...like it was trying to force its way straight through them...

...and, with my heart aching at the overwhelming physical and emotional pain she had to be feeling, I lowered my head onto her chest. With her eyes still shut tightly, she reached down and stroked my hair and I leaned up and kissed her.

"Sam...thank you. I know how hard it wa-uh, I mean how uh..._difficult _it was for you to...to not.._.continue_. And it makes me love you even more...more than I ever knew it was possible to love another person."

She was looking dangerously near tears again...and so I decided not to continue the conversation. She had cried enough for one night.

But still, I wanted so badly to help her...

...and suddenly, I had an idea.

"Sam?"

She opened her eyes to mine.

With a warm smile I continued, "Honey, I know you're under a lot of stress right now...and I think it might help if you...went into the bathroom and tried to...you know...have an orgasm."

Not pausing to think it over, she shook her head violently.

"Why not?" I asked gently. "Please tell me."

To my surprise, she did.

"I d-don't want to...touch it."

I nodded understandingly.

"I know you're scared, but I really think it will help you if you try to anyw-"

"_I don't want to,"_ she insisted.

"Please?"

She shook her head...

...and I asked, hopefully, "Do you mean that you don't want to do it..._in there?_ Well then, how about in here? I'll bring you a towel...and then I'll leave...and I_ promise_ that I won't come back until you call me."

"No!"

I took both of her hands between my own. "I won't even be up here. I'll go downstairs and turn on some loud music...and I won't hear anything."

No answer.

I laid a hand on her cheek. "Look, it's bedtime anyway, and I'm sure you have to go to the bathroom, because you haven't since before we had dinner, so go ahead; and while you're in there, please just think about it...that's all I'm asking."

She didn't agree to think it over.

As she got out of bed and headed for the bathroom, I quickly decided to devote my time alone to researching doctors...

...but I immediately realized that I couldn't use the kitchen computer because Spencer was downstairs; and there was no way I was going to embarrass any of us by looking up anything penis-related in front of him.

There was no phone book in my room, so I decided to dial _Information, _but...what kind of doctor should I ask for? After all, I highly doubt that there's anyone who specializes in this sort of thing.

And then, as I sat wracking my brains, it came to me.

About four months ago, I had overheard someone in the cafeteria saying that his uncle had to go to the 'dick doctor' and then Freddie had pompously corrected him, saying, 'I suppose you mean the _urologist_'."

So, urologist = dick doctor? Hmm...I'd always thought that they specialized in urinary problems.

Whatever.

Seconds later, I was leaning against my desk, digging in my oversized handbag for my phone, but for some reason, I couldn't seem to find it...

...but it_ had_ to be in here somewhere under all this junk; so, turning my bag upside down, I shook its contents out onto my desk...

...but was suddenly distracted from my search when I saw what was lying on the top of the pile.

It was a brightly-colored brochure, titled *Oswell's Oddities*.

Oh well, I suppose I could spare a minute to just take a fast look at it.

Less than thirty seconds later, I was reading: _Congratulations! You're about to have a private audience with the amazing Anton Oswell!_

The next two paragraphs described his supposed travels and studies abroad, under wise-and-all-knowing mystics, so I'll spare you the deets on that...

...but then I read: _Anton Oswell...The World's Greatest Grantor of Wishes, Seer of Futures, and Adviser of Dreamers!_

_Don't waste your valuable time and money on bogus Gypsies and fortune tellers. For real results...see me._

And then, what I'd just read actually registered deep within my brain...

...and suddenly, I staggered backward...

...as every detail of last night's visit to his tent came rushing back to me.

Grantor of Wishes.

Oh My God.

While we were in his tent, Sam had said, "I wish I was a guy."

_OH MY GOD!_

As I stood there in total shock, I became vaguely aware of Sam walking back into the room, and I quickly stuffed the brochure back into my bag; realizing as I did that, since she had been gone less than five minutes, there's absolutely no way that she could have..._done it. _A fast glance at the miserable, frustrated expression on her face further confirmed that fact.

She didn't speak, but that was just as well, because I needed time to think.

Crossing the room to where she stood, by the bed, I lay down, pulled her down next to me...

...staring in shock as I did, at the very noticeable, new growth of coarse blonde hair that was now covering her upper lip.

Apparently, her male genitalia was just the beginning...

...and Sam was on her way to becoming 100% guy!

Forcing my expression into one that hopefully showed no trace of this new realization, I smiled and held out my arms...and I know she saw me do it...but, still visibly upset (probably because she'd just had to see and touch her penis again,) she pretended not to notice and rolled away from me.

All the way across the bed.

With a sigh, I turned my eyes upward and stared at the ceiling, realizing as I did...

...that I have to see Anton Oswell again...right away...

...and convince him to change Sam back!


	3. Chapter 3

I paused to consider.

What if I'm wrong about this?

If I am, and it has nothing to do with Mr. Oswell, then I don't want to get Sam's hopes up...or to upset her even further (God only knows what she'd do to him if she thought he was responsible); so I'm going to have to find a way to talk to him without her knowing.

Right now.

Which means I'm going to have to leave her here...alone. But how can I _ever _get her to agree to that?

Despite my best efforts, no ideas presented themselves; and finally, frustrated, I turned my head on the pillow to see Sam, lying over on the far side of the bed, with her back to me and her knees drawn up to her chest...

...and suddenly, I had my answer: Last night, the two of us had left the pharmacy so quickly that I'd never had a chance to buy her any Easter candy.

Perfect.

I glanced over at my alarm clock. Fortunately, the GVS was still open; and so, scooching across the bed, I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder.

"Sam? Do you mind if I, uh...go out for a little while?"

Immediately, she rolled over and lifted her tear-stained face to mine.

"W-w-with who?" she asked, hurt and apprehension clearly visible in her eyes...

...and my heart sank. She actually thought I wanted to leave so I could go spend time with someone else; so, hoping to reassure her, I quickly answered, "No! Nothing like that. I just need to go out for a, uh..._by myself_...I promise!"

She didn't look the least bit convinced. "W-why, Carls?"

Eager to put her mind at ease_ and _to give her something to look forward to, I smiled down at her mysteriously and replied, "I can't tell you right now...it's going to be a surprise!"

"No!" she argued, "I don't w-want any m-more boys' ugly underpants!"

I shook my head. "That's not at all what I had in mind. I promise that this is going to be...something you'll really, really like."

She still looked uncertain, despite my response; but, after thinking it over, she nodded...

...slowly and sadly...

...and I leaned down and kissed her...

...repeatedly.

"Don't worry, Honey," I said, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and pulling her close. "I won't be gone long."

After one last kiss, I got out of bed and hurriedly pulled on a pair of sweatpants, sneakers, and a jacket; and then, without further explanation, I picked up my bag and left.

Less than a minute later, I was downstairs, opening the front door; and had just put one foot over the threshold, when I heard a booming voice.

"_Carlotta Taylor Shay!" _

Cringing, I turned on the spot to see Spencer, who was standing at the entrance to our kitchen; with a dish towel in his right hand, and a clean dinner plate in his left hand...

...and a disapproving look on his face.

"Uh, hey, Spencer," I answered, in my best non-nonchalant tone, hoping that he'd forgo the interrogation which now seemed inevitable.

No such luck.

"Kiddo, where are you going at this hour...alone?" he asked.

"Um, just out to run an errand," I replied.

"I see that," he answered. "But _where_ are you going...and why isn't Sam going with you?"

"She uh...she still has cramps," I told him, quickly blurting out the first thing to cross my mind...

...which (fortunately) also supplied me with an answer to the other half of his question.

Spencer took a step forward. "Look, whatever this errand is, why don't you let me go instead? After all, it's too late for you to be walking around the streets at this hour of the night, all by yourself..."

"Spencer, we need pads."

"...unless-you-leave-right-away-hurry-back!" he ended quickly, sprinting back into the kitchen.

Not waiting around (in case he changed his mind), I rushed out the front door and down the hall, toward the elevator...

...and then out of the building...

...not slowing my pace in the slightest until I reached the pharmacy.

Realizing that I'd arrived less than fifteen minutes before closing time, I headed straight to the Candy aisle...a section of the store I know well.

I tend to buy all of our holiday candy at GVS, because they usually have a really nice selection of gourmet items; and this holiday was no exception. Seven minutes later, I was rushing toward the cash register, with my arms full; and, as the cashier rang up the heaping pile of Cadberry eggs, peanut butter truffles, assorted sour jelly duckies, and chocolate bunnies, I smiled...realizing that Sam was going to love it all.

After paying, I managed - with effort - to fit everything into my oversized handbag; and then, just as the store manager was locking the front doors, I was heading back out into the night...

...and toward Meridian Park.

Less than five minutes later, I was rushing through the park's front gates and hurrying up the main path, with my heart pounding...but completely unsure if it was from fear of muggers, or from fear of what was about to happen when I spoke to Anton Oswell. I mean, I couldn't just accuse him of anything...but then again, what could I say without seeming crazy?

"Oh, by the way, did you recently give my girlfriend a penis?"

Although I wracked my brain, no solutions of any kind occurred to me, and by the time I'd reached the wrought iron _*Oswell's Oddities*_ entrance gates, I realized that I was just going to have 'wing it' when I spoke to him...hoping that, as I did, I'd somehow find the right words.

About four steps from the illuminated tent's entrance I jumped (again) as I heard a loud, booming voice announce (again), "Welcome! Step in! I have many treasures of antiquity that may strike your fancy!"

Making a mental note not to be surprised by this annoying (and obviously pre-recorded) pronouncement in the future, I rushed through the tent flaps...

...and straight into the arms of Mr. Oswell.

"Oof!" he exclaimed, taking a step backward into the tent; and breathing shallowly and rapidly, while rubbing the center of his chest, where my head had slammed into it.

Rubbing my own equally-aching forehead, I looked up - to see him staring at me reproachfully - and gasped, "Oh, God! I'm _so_ sorry, Mr. Oswell! Are you okay?"

"Yes," he replied, finally catching his breath. "You just took me by surprise; I was on my way out for the night." He paused for a moment and then added, "I'm sorry, Carly; did I tell you we were opening today?"

Not sure if I was happy that he'd remembered my name, I answered, "Uh, no...and I'm sorry to arrive so late...but I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes. It's really, really important."

After considering for a moment, he nodded, and then turned and walked toward his desk.

I followed.

He removed his slate gray suit jacket and tossed it to one side; and then gestured toward the two chairs that where still directly across from his own...exactly where Sam had left them the previous evening.

I seated myself in the nearer of the two and looked across the desk to see him, with his forearms resting on its surface and his hands clasped together, looking back at me pleasantly and expectantly.

Taking a deep breath, I plunged right in. "Uh, I'm here because my friend Sam has a problem."

Immediately, his eyebrows shot up...

...and realizing that he'd seen right through my half-truth (maybe his brochure_ really was_ accurate), I admitted, "Okay, okay...my _girlfriend _Sam!"

He nodded without answering, and so I continued, "Uh, see, Sam woke up this morning with a...a..."

My voice trailed off...

...and I felt myself beginning to panic.

Sam_ was_ right. I always freak out when I have to discuss personal subjects...so how could I possibly discuss something so intimate with a near stranger, I wondered; as I stared, with my eyes silently pleading, for him to help me out.

He appeared to realize that I was having difficulty, because he soon slid a blank piece of paper and a pen across the desk to me.

"Why don't you write it down?" he asked. "Would that be easier for you?"

Nodding my thanks, I managed to scribble a short explanation of the situation (with a badly shaking hand) and then, folding the paper in half, I returned it to him, along with the pen...

...and then I sat there - trembling, and with my heart pounding - as he read in silence.

When he got to the end of my note, his jaw dropped...

...and then, looking up at me with a Very Serious Expression, he asked with concern, "She touched the Bonsen Shaman..._didn't she?_"

Unsure which part of Sam's penis he was referring to (I didn't remember that term from health class), I replied, "I'm not sure. She always goes into the bathroom _by herself_."

He gave me a strange look. "Uh, no, Carly, the Bonsen Shaman_ isn't _a part of the male genitalia. Wait here a moment," he advised, standing up, leaving his desk, and disappearing somewhere behind me.

I waited patiently, and a minute later, I heard his footsteps stopping next to my chair.

"This is the Bonsen Shaman," he announced...

…and, looking over to my right, I saw...

...that revolting shrunken head, inches from my face..._again!_

With a loud, involuntary squeak, I shrank back from the next to last thing I wanted to look at (the last thing being Sam's penis), and shook my head as he held it out to me.

He seemed not to notice this and, reaching forward, he gently took hold of my right wrist, turned my hand palm upward, and set the disgustingly-ugly thing into it.

"No don't let go of it," he directed, blocking my hand with his own as I tried to set the nasty thing on his desk.

Confused, I obeyed (with great reluctance), letting the head...which had once been attached to a living, breathing human being(!)...rest in my hand; staring at it in revulsion, as he walked back around to his side of the desk.

Looking from it to Mr. Oswell, who was now seated across from me once again, I attempted lessen my squeamishness via casual conversation, by remarking, "This thing...he...he looks a lot like a boy Sam and I know."

Mr. Oswell nodded in acknowledgment, but instead of replying to my comment, he said, "Now, I want you to tell me exactly what happened while I was on the phone last night."

Upon hearing this request, my reluctance kicked into high gear and, biting my lower lip, I looked down at the desk top in silence.

"Carly?"

Nervously, I looked back up slowly to see him smiling at me kindly. "You don't have to worry," he said encouragingly. "I'm not angry that she handled it without permission. Now tell me what happened."

"I...c-can't," I faltered.

"Why not?"

I paused to reflect for a moment before answering, "It's...it's complicated."

He smiled. "That's fine. I didn't have any real plans for tonight anyway, so take all the time you need."

Still, the thought of recounting our very personal discussion of periods, etc. in front of him made me squirm in my seat as I replied, "It's not that I'm worried about wasting your time...it's just that the whole thing is kind of...well..._embarrassing."_

He leaned back in his chair. "I understand but, for the record, I've had many, many clients...with many different types of problems; and as a result, I can guarantee you that I've pretty much 'heard it all'; so there's nothing you can't tell me."

I stopped to consider this, and realizing that every minute I delayed meant another minute of severe physical and emotional suffering for Sam, I caved in and told him.

He refrained from interrupting me during my explanation, merely nodding at several different points in the story; and I ended by saying, "See? What happened was an honest mistake."

He frowned. "Are you_ sure _it was a mistake? Her wish sounds pretty adamant to me."

Slightly exasperated that he didn't seem to comprehend the seriousness of the situation, I replied, "Come on, cut her some slack. Sometimes I wish _I_ was a guy too...but don't punish her for it."

"I'm not punishing her for anything," he answered.

"But...she's _still_ changing into a guy!" I reiterated...

...in a slightly-too-loud tone.

He nodded wisely. "Well, that's understandable. Since Sam said she 'wished sometimes' that she was a guy, then it's reasonable to expect that her transformation will take several days, rather than occurring all at once."

I rolled my eyes. "But...that's not the point! She doesn't really want to be one! You do understand that...don't you?" I asked him hopefully.

"Of course I do," he assured me.

Heaving a sigh of relief, I added, "Well then...I'm here to ask you to change her back into a girl...please."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he answered flatly.

Grabbing onto the edge of the desk for support with my free hand (because the tent suddenly seemed to start spinning dangerously), I gasped, "Wh-what? Why not?"

"Well, isn't it obvious?" he asked...

...and I lost it.

"No!" I yelled. "It's not! I want her back the way she was...and so does she! You need to fix what you did!"

His eyebrows shot up. "Are you actually suggesting that_ I_ did this to her?"

I almost jumped to my feet.

I almost screamed at him to stop fucking with my head (the one that wasn't lying in my palm).

But I didn't.

I was well aware that it wasn't going to help Sam. And _nothing_ was more important than that...

...and so, instead, I plunged my badly-shaking free hand into my overstuffed bag and, after some determined digging, I yanked the brochure he'd recently given me from it. Struggling to keep my voice even, I raised his flyer to eye level and stated, "This says that you can grant wishes. Can't you un-grant them?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Wishes can be very dangerous things; especially when they're not made thoughtfully and deliberately, and in a carefully controlled environment," he explained with a sigh. "You see, I didn't grant Sam's wish. She never asked me to."

Now completely confused (and more than a little frustrated), I asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Carly, I see that you don't understand what's happened here," he answered patiently. "The problem is this: You're trying to get me to reverse a pre-existing wish...one that I never granted in the first place...and that's something that can't really be done."

"Wh-what? Why n-not?" I spluttered.

In response, he nodded toward the shrunken head in my hand and asked, "Have you ever heard the history of the Bonsen Shaman?"

"No..." I began, "...but what the hell does that have to do with-"

I stopped speaking when I saw the expression on his face; and, realizing that what he wanted to tell me was somehow relevant, I (with effort) shut up.

Leaning forward, Mr. Oswell rested his elbows on the desk and put his palms together, surveying me from over the tops of his fingertips before beginning, "Well, the Bonsens were a Spanish-speaking tribe, indigenous to the northern region of South America; who were widely renowned for their profound intellect; and to a lesser degree, for their swordsmanship.

"For as far back as recorded history shows, their little kingdom was, for the most part, a peaceable one; but nearly six hundred years ago, their shaman - or medicine man - whose name was Wredfard, and whose head you're now holding, rose to power. Wredfard was all-knowing, all-seeing, and very powerful...and the Bonsen tribe's enemies - a ruthless band of fierce warriors, known as the Peckutts - were well aware of this.

"To make a long story short, the Peckutts captured and killed Wredfard; partly for revenge, and partly because they thought that by doing so they could harness his supreme intelligence; but instead - and unfortunately - by decapitating him, they ended up scattering the incredible powers of his mind into invisible formations - known as technas - which surround his shrunken head and which can be very dangerous, unless channeled correctl-"

"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "If this Wredfard was all knowing and all-seeing, then why didn't he realize what his enemies were planning?"

Mr. Oswell smiled sagely as he answered, "Because Wredfard made a grievous error. He abandoned his wisdom in favor of passion, and kidnapped Princess Larcotta; who was betrothed to the Peckutt's incredibly violent Chief Warrior, a terrifying brute known as Masantha."

He paused for a moment and then added, "Anyway, the instant Wredfard set eyes upon Princess Larcotta - a maiden of breathtaking beauty - he began thinking with his 'little head' instead of his big one; and, overwhelmed with love and/or lust, he decided that he must have her for his own, no matter what the consequences...and so, he kidnapped her.

"Needless to say, Masantha flew into a rage over this, and as soon as Princess Larcotta had been rescued, poor Wredfard ended up as a shrunken head; and, to make matters worse, instead of merely killing him, Masantha tortured the hell out of him first."

"The Peckutts do sound like a pretty tough bunch," I admitted.

Mr. Oswell nodded. "They were. In fact, at the end of every male member's manhood initiation ceremony, he had to endure circumcision."

I frowned. "But...don't a lot of cultures practice circumcision?"

"It was very unusual for South American tribes of that time period," he replied. "But, in this case, what's really bizarre is that each adult male had to prove his bravery and worthiness by performing circumcision...on himself!"

"Ow!" I yelled. "That's gotta hurt!"

"You're absolutely right," he agreed. "Anyway, Masantha soon realized how dangerous the shrunken head of Wredfard the Bonsen Shaman was, when strange and inexplicable events began to occur, wherever the head was stored; and eventually the clan relinquished possession of it. However, from that time forward, due to their mutual hatred, both tribes vowed to exact their revenge upon each other, at every opportunity, until the end of time."

"So, what happened to the Bonsens and the Peckutts after that?" I asked, surprised at my curiosity.

After a moment's reflection, he replied, "Well, there is evidence that Masantha and Princess Larcotta were married and lived happily ever after; but as to what happened to the two clans, not much is known.

"However, shortly after their feud began, Spanish Conquistadors landed in their territory, and it's thought that the two tribes were slowly assimilated into this new group and eventually converted to Christianity; but even though their ascension from that point is hazy, one thing _is_ known for sure: As long as there's a Bonsen and a Peckutt alive, they're sworn to be mortal enemies"

His story finished, Mr. Oswell leaned back in his chair, resting his hands upon the armrests and watching me from across the table, as I processed the information I'd just heard. After nearly a minute had passed, he spoke again. "I hate to have to tell you this, but due to the reckless nature of Sam's wish, there's no guarantee that she can undo what she asked for."

And, with these words...

...the horrible truth (finally) hit me...

...and gesturing toward the shrunken head that was still in my hand I gasped, "Wait...are you telling me that Sam is turning into a guy...just because she was holding this thing when she made her wish?"

He nodded.

"And not because of anything_ you_ did?" I added.

"That is correct," he confirmed...

...and ignoring the painful way my heart suddenly seemed to be twisting in my chest, I asked, "Well then...what can she do to fix this?"

Mr. Oswell was now looking at me with genuine regret as he answered, "Unfortunately, due to the highly complicated circumstances surrounding this wish, there's no guarantee that_ anything _she does can reverse it. However, there are two things you could try."

"S-surgery?" I asked...with great apprehension.

"I'm afraid that surgery wouldn't be effective," he answered. "Due to the adamant way she wished, shortly after removal, her male genitalia would just grow right back."

Horrified, and unable/unwilling to accept this revelation, I jumped to my feet. "That's not true! You don't know that!" I yelled, as loudly as I could.

"Carly, please sit down," he replied with surprising calmness. "I know the history of this head, and the frightening things that it's capable of, which is why I keep it locked up."

He paused.

"But I have the only key...so I don't understand how or why the case was open last night."

Deciding that this probably wasn't the best time to mention Sam's 'mad lock-picking skillz', I took my seat again; and instead asked, very, very politely, "Please, isn't there something_ you_ can do for her..._anything?_"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

Lowering my eyes to the desk top, I found myself fighting back the sudden urge to cry at the very real possibility that Sam would never be the same again; and, as I did, I felt a hand on my arm and looked up to see Mr. Oswell leaning across the desk.

"Look, once again, I have to emphasize that nothing's for certain but as I said before, there are two things that you could try."

"L-like wh-what?" I asked.

He gave me an answer, though not a satisfying one:

"For starters, she should act on her wish."

"What do you mean?" I asked, blinking back tears.

Mr. Oswell pulled a clean, folded handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it across the table to me. As I sat wiping my eyes, he explained, "Well, she said that she wants to be a guy...so now she should act like one. How has she been spending her time since she left my tent?"

"Crying mostly," I replied...handing his handkerchief back to him.

He frowned. "Well that's no good."

"Why not?" I asked. "Guys cry...they just don't admit it."

He nodded in agreement. "Fair enough. But that's certainly not going to help her."

I was confused. "So that's it? She acts like a guy...maybe smokes a cigar and beats the crap out of a few people...and then she'll be back to normal?"

He shook his head. "Not exactly. Considering the seriousness of this situation, that conclusion is way too presumptuous."

"Well, what else can she try that might influence...hey, wait a minute!" I yelled, snatching his brochure off the desk. "I still don't understand why you can't help her...and _are you even legit?_ If you are, then why did you have to ask me for an explanation as to what happened while you were on the phone? Why didn't you already see _that?"_

"My attention was elsewhere," he answered simply...

...taking me by surprise.

"Okay, fine," I conceded; but then, waving the brochure in his direction, I continued, "But this says that you grant wishes."

"I do."

"Well then," I continued sarcastically, "if that's the case, then why don't I see your new Lamborghini parked outside?"

He ignored my smart-alecky tone and, addressing the question directly, replied, "Because there's more to wishing than that."

"Like what?" I demanded loudly.

"Like helping others."

At these words, I took a deep yet shaky breath...

...realizing that I was coming dangerously close to acting downright obnoxious; and that if I continued to criticize him in this way, I might end up pissing him off...and that would most definitely be counter-productive to helping Sam.

He looked into my eyes with a reflective curiousness, seeming to sense that I was trying to regain my self-control; and we both sat in silence for a minute or two before I asked slowly, "Well then, what's the secret behind you granting wishes? You said something earlier about 'controlled environments'?"

He nodded.

"You see," he explained, "when people come to me for overtly-selfish reasons, such as blatant greed or revenge, I try to discourage them from making those types of wishes. Instead, I point out that unselfishness and love are the most powerful catalysts for making wishes come true...and therefore, those types of wishes are the ones most likely to be granted."

Not fully understanding what he meant I asked, "Can you give me an example?"

Mr. Oswell kept his kindly eyes fixed on me, as if he were studying me...

...as if he were deciding whether to tell me something.

Finally, he spoke.

"Carly," he answered softly, "some people sacrifice their happiness, their possessions, and sometimes even their lives for those they love; wishing only that the other person will be happy. Nothing's more powerful than that." He paused, and then added, "Which brings us to the second thing you could try. I get the impression that you love Sam very deeply."

The tears welling up in my eyes again answered his question...which was fortunate...because at that moment, I was incapable of speaking without bawling...from both fear and frustration.

He nodded.

"I know, I know that you do." He gestured toward my right hand. "Well, as you can see, you're holding the Bonsen Shaman right now; and so, even though there are no guarantees, you could try wishing for what you want...for Sam's sake."

Wiping my eyes with the back of my free hand, I nodded, and then forced myself to look down at the ugly shrunken head in my open palm; and, summoning every single shred of love in my heart, I said in an unsteady voice, "I w-wish that Sam was back the way she was before...not for m-myself...for her...and I'd give anything to see her happy again."

Mr. Oswell nodded his approval.

"Well done. Your wish was obviously very sincere and heartfelt; and I'm going to wrap things up by reminding you again that unselfish wishes, made for others instead of for oneself, especially ones that involve personal sacrifice, are the most worthwhile wishes to make; and the ones most deserving of being granted. And now, it's getting late, and you really should hurry home to Sam."

Realizing that he was right, I placed the shrunken head on the desktop in front of me. Returning Mr. Oswell's brochure to my bag I stood up and extended my hand. As he shook it, I asked, "How much do I owe you?"

He shook his head. "In this case, I did nothing to deserve payment. If your wish _does_ come true, it was solely from your own efforts...not mine."

As I mulled this over, he shrugged his jacket on; and then, after returning the Bonsen Shaman to its case and locking it, he walked around to my side of the desk and held out his arm.

I took it, and we left the tent and stepped out into the foggy night.

Less than five minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a taxi (he'd insisted), and while the driver was waiting for an opening in traffic so he could pull away from the curb, I turned in my seat and watched as Mr. Oswell smiled at me one last time, and then turned and walked away; his light gray jacket soon becoming indistinguishable from the dense, swirling mist that blanketed the entire length of Madison Street...as far as the eye could see.

Minutes later - after paying the driver - I ran into Bushwell Plaza...

...and, ignoring Lewbert's screams that the sound of my breathing had woken him up from his 'beauty sleep', I watched his head land back on the desk with an audible thud, as the elevator doors slid closed.

The instant they opened again, I raced down the hall...

...with my heart racing equally fast...

...struggling to control it, as I wondered if my wish had been successful...

...and had returned Sam to her old self.

However, as eager as I was to find out the answer to this burning question, my attention was soon diverted...

...abruptly.

I had just stopped in front of my apartment entrance and was searching in the pockets of my sweatpants for the key when I heard it...

...distinctly and unmistakeably.

It was a sneeze...

...and it had come from the other side of the Benson's front door.

And I knew _Exactly Who _it had come from.

Damn him! He's told me that he's not in love with me anymore...more than once...and _still_, he's stalking me through his peephole!

And then, I nearly dropped my key...

...as I realized that, two nights ago, when Sam and I had returned home from Ocean Shores, we'd stopped here, in front of my door...

...and I had mentioned to her that we had to be careful, because Spencer might be at home...

...and then I'd kissed her...

...right here...

...and not on the cheek.

For more than a minute.

Obviously, Freddie had seen and heard it all; and was now well aware that Sam and I are officially a couple...

...and apparently, this knowledge had 'inspired' his little outburst in the Feminine Hygiene aisle at the GVS.

But, as enlightening as this new revelation was, it really didn't matter at the moment...

...because there were far more pressing issues at hand.

Making a mental note to deal with Freddie later...severely...I let myself into my apartment, locking the door behind me...

...and then I tore upstairs...

...stopping only to read the note that I found taped to the outside of my bedroom door.

_Kiddo: _

_Staying at Socko's tonight...he needs me to help assemble his new bed. Back home around 4 tomorrow afternoon. Call me if you need anything._

_XOXOX,_

_Spencer_

And then, heart hammering, I slowly opened my bedroom door.

It was pitch black inside. Obviously, Sam had turned the lights out and gone to sleep early.

Tiptoeing across to my bed, I turned my table lamp on to its lowest setting, which provided just enough light to see by, but not enough to wake her up. As I'd guessed, she was lying on her back, with her face turned away from me...over on the far side of the bed...sound asleep.

It was fine. The candy could wait until tomorrow.

Crossing the room to my dresser, I opened my bag - with shaking hands - and carefully laid out everything I'd bought for her...

...slowly and deliberately.

Over and over, I rearranged the display of candy...

...cursing myself all the while for being so cowardly that I was delaying the inevitable...

...but finally, realizing that I couldn't put it off any longer...

...I nervously walked back across the room...

...over to Sam's side of the bed...

...and, while saying a silent yet fervent prayer...

...I slowly lifted the covers from her body and peeked underneath...


	4. Chapter 4

...to see a distressingly-huge, protruding bulge still straining against the inside of her underpants.

As I clapped my free hand over my mouth, suppressing a sob of fear and dismay, Sam stirred restlessly in her sleep; and, after lowering the covers once again, I walked - unsteadily - over to my desk chair; and, sitting down...

...I stared at her in despair from across the room.

It hadn't worked.

After everything I'd just been through, it hadn't worked...

...and worse, there was no reason to believe that Sam beating people up would work either; since she had been doing that for years, and yet still had - up 'til now - remained a girl.

And worst of all, according to Mr. Oswell, even if she subjected herself to painful surgery, it _still_ wasn't going to work.

Completely distraught and fighting back tears, I lowered my head into my hands; asking myself how all of this had happened...even though I was well aware of the answer. But then, as I wrestled to keep my emotions from running rampant, a new thought occurred to me:

Maybe my wish _was_going to happen. After all, it had taken a few hours for _Sam's _original wish to begin coming true...

...and, therefore, maybe I just needed to wait things out for a while.

And so, I continued to sit at my desk, distracting my mind from impatience and apprehension by focusing on the most positive thoughts I could summon; trying - through mental exertion alone - to will Sam's body to change back...

...while she lay in my bed...deeply asleep and oblivious to it all...

...until, nearly two hours later, unable to wait any longer, I crossed the room again and (fearfully yet hopefully) lifted the covers off her again.

Fuck!

She hadn't changed back...not in the slightest.

But then again, I thought, lowering the covers once more, maybe I _still_ hadn't allowed enough time to elapse; and so, I got undressed to my T-shirt and panties and crawled into bed, next to Sam...

...and got into my usual, favorite position - on my right side, with my arms wrapped around my pillow...

...and lay there, eyes closed, listening to her breathing - deeply and evenly - behind me...

...but, even though I was way beyond exhausted, it was a long time before I fell asleep.

XXXXX

Nearly three hours later, I awoke with a start...gasping for breath.

The dream had been a bad one.

One that had involved Sam...

...and suicide...

...and suddenly, even though I was aware that it had only been a nightmare, I felt more afraid than I'd ever been in my entire life. I know Sam well, but I had no idea how she was going to react to the knowledge that she'd never be the person she used to be, even if she underwent extensive and painful surgery.

_What if she really _did _want to kill herself?_

Try as I might, I couldn't get this horrifying thought out of my mind; and, now highly distressed, I began to pray fervently...spending nearly half an hour begging that I'd get my wish...and that Sam would be a girl again...

...and then, focusing every last shred of energy on believing that my determination had transformed back into her old self, I lifted the covers off her body once more...

_...but nothing had changed._

I had failed.

I had failed her completely.

And completely broken, I turned over, buried my face in my pillow, and sobbed.

Why hadn't it worked? Mr. Oswell had told me that unselfish wishes were the most grant-able kind; and I_ had_ wished for Sam's happiness, rather than for my own...

...so why hadn't it worked?

_**WHY?**_

After about ten minutes, it occurred to me that crying was both selfish and unproductive; and so - with effort - I forced myself to stop. Drying my eyes on the sheet, I turned over onto my back and stared up at the ceiling...

...feeling completely, utterly, hopelessly beaten...

...but then, as I lay there - physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted - I had an epiphany:

During our discussion of the likelihood of wishes being granted, Mr. Oswell had mentioned something else...in addition to unselfishness.

He had mentioned personal sacrifice as well...

..._great personal sacrifice_...

...and what had I actually sacrificed in making this wish?

Nothing.

Not a single thing.

But then again...what would be expected of me?

What thing of that magnitude could I possibly give or do, that would demonstrate my absolute sinceri-

Before I had finished asking this question...

...I had my answer.

And it was one that I didn't want to acknowledge.

Not in the least.

No.

I had never wanted that...

...not for either of us.

I never wanted it to happen that way.

But, as hard as I tried to justify my resistance...

…I finally was forced to admit that I had no choice.

She wanted it...

...she had wanted it_ badly_...

...for a _very_ long time...

...and I had denied her...

_...indefinitely..._

...with vague promises of 'someday'...

...but now I realized that, if there was ever going to be any chance for Sam to get her wish and to be a girl again, then I had to be completely unselfish...right now...no matter how I felt.

Nevertheless, I still spent the next twenty minutes wracking my brain, trying to find another..._any other_...alternative.

I failed.

And so, upset and petrified, but also resigned, I climbed out of bed and walked slowly to the bathroom...

...to get what I needed.

Returning to the bedroom, I carefully but deliberately pulled the covers down on my side of the bed...

...and, with much trepidation, I laid the twice-folded, navy blue towel on top of the mattress...

...down where my hips would soon be.

I stood there staring down at it...for a very long time.

In fact, nearly fifteen minutes elapsed, as I hesitated...

...before finally - and fearfully - lying down on top of it; and reaching over to uncover Sam.

As I did, she rolled over onto her back...

...and the sight of the huge protrusion of her morning erection, straining forcefully against the front of her already-too-tight briefs, confirmed that it was time.

Still, I continued to hesitate.

I knew I absolutely _did not_ want to...especially not this way...

...but I also knew that nothing meant more to me than un-granting Sam's wish.

_**Nothing.**_

And so, I reached over - with a trembling hand - and gently pushed her hair off her face.

"Sam?"

Everyone who's spent even a short amount of time with Sam knows that waking her up is always a Major Production; and so, I was more than a little surprised when her eyes snapped open immediately.

"Carls?" she murmured, looking back at me, unexpectedly wild-eyed and near tears...

...but before I could ask her what was wrong, she continued, "I...I know why this h-happened to me."

"Why, Sweetheart?" I replied, completely confused.

She bit her lower lip.

"It...it's because my Mom wanted a boy. She's always been so disappointed in me for...for everything...and she's right! I'm..I'm nothing but a total fu-"

"Is that what you think?" I asked, cutting her off before she could beat herself up any further...

...but also unsure if I should tell her what I now knew...

...the_ real reason_ for her transformation.

At once, she nodded...

...yet, for reasons that I can't fully explain, I decided against it. Instead, I reached across again, putting my hand on her shoulder and pulling her over toward me. Moving my hand to her cheek, I turned her face to mine and answered, "Sam, don't be upset. I'm sure that's_ not _what happened. But...whatever the reason is, I love you."

There was no response...

...as she turned her head away from me...

...and so, I sat up and leaned over her.

"I swear that I love you..._so much_...you do realize that, don't you?"

I was expecting her to nod her agreement.

I was disappointed.

After nearly a minute of deafening silence, I put my hand under her chin and gently turned her eyes back to mine.

"Do you know how much that is?" I asked.

In response, she lowered her gaze and shrugged; so I leaned down, tilted my head, to align my lips with hers...

...and I kissed her.

Less than a minute later, moving my mouth close to her ear, I whispered, "_So much._"

I thought she would try to stop me from kissing her but she didn't; and when I pulled back and my eyes met hers, I clearly saw the infinite sadness in them...

...and, unsure of what to say next, I leaned down and resumed kissing her instead...

...but suddenly, and thankfully, our kiss, was now no longer one-sided...

...as I felt her lips begin moving - tentatively - under mine.

Nearly a minute later, her hands reached up and clasped around the back of my neck...

...and, as she pulled me to her, I balanced myself on my elbows, turned my head to one side, and ran my cheek up and down against hers...

...but she soon turned my face back to hers and began kissing me again.

With a silent sigh of relief, I lay my body down - diagonally - on top of hers...

...and her body shivered under mine, as my lips slowly began caressing her neck...

...and I felt myself shivering too as her hands moved upward, into my hair.

And then, despite knowing full well what was about to happen...

...I slid my arms around her back and pulled her as close to me as I could...

...and my lips parted.

Less than a minute later, she made a low sound against my open mouth, something like a moan; and shifted under me on the mattress; in a way which left no doubt that her body was starting to become aroused...

...everywhere.

Ignoring my rapidly-escalating fear, I shifted my weight to my palms and rolled off her; and then, holding my breath, I ran my right hand slowly across her chest, and over her right breast...

...which now seemed alarmingly smaller than normal...due to her continuing transformation.

At my touch, she arched her back and gasped and, as I slid my quaking hand under her T-shirt and then slowly upward, she moaned - from somewhere deep inside herself - a single word:

"Yes."

Trying to distract my mind from what was most certainly about to happen, I turned my full attention to her breasts; sensually caressing first one, and then the other...

...alternating between them – over and over...

...until the sounds she was making assured me that she probably wouldn't resist what I was about to do next...

...and I slowly - yet determinedly - pulled her shirt off.

Even though she didn't try to stop me, she whispered, alarmed, "Carls...I don't...w-we shouldn't-"

"Shh."

She shook her head.

"But...but you said you weren't r-ready-"

I laid my fingers across her mouth.

"Shh. It's okay. Everything is okay," I whispered back. "Do you like it when I...when I kiss you like this?"

"Y-yes," she replied, moving my hand away from her lips, "but-"

"Do you know why I'm kissing you?" I interrupted.

She frowned. "Well, actual-"

"Sam, it's because I love you so much...so much that I want to be really close to you...right now," I answered softly.

She looked both uncertain and uneasy as she replied, "I...I don't...know..."

Despite her reluctance to continue, I began tugging at my own T-shirt, finally managing to pull it over my head with one hand, while replying, in a low, reassuring voice, "Shh. It's okay, Honey. I know how much you want to...and it's fine. Don't say anything else," I added quietly, lowering my body back onto hers...

...but the instant our bare chests made contact...

...she panicked.

"Carls,_ no!_" she exclaimed; her entire body suddenly stiffening. Seconds later, she squirmed, trying to slide out from under me...

...but only managing to move an inch or two before I pinned her. I maintained my grasp, fully expecting her to continue struggling, but she only lay with her body under mine, looking up at me fearfully.

I somehow managed a smile.

"Don't you want to...to be with me?" I asked gently...

...and, after only a few seconds' hesitation, she decided to be honest...

...and nodded slowly...

...but still, she continued to resist.

"B-but you told m-me that you didn't ever want to have sex with a guy...and besides, I don't even have any cond-"

Before she had finished, my lips found her neck again; and I answered, between kisses, "Sam, none of that matters. You're not a guy...you're a girl...**you're**_** my**_** girl**...and I love you. I know how much you want this...and it's okay that you...d-don't have any."

She moved her hands to my shoulders, and pushed me up a few inches as she protested, "But you said you don't _ever _want to have k-"

"I don't," I admitted, "...but I love you."

She nodded. "Well then, I'll...I'll just run down to the corner store and buy some cond-"

As I tightened my arms around her neck and shook my head; she stared up at me, unconvinced...

...and more than a little fearful as she argued, "But what if we...what if I...what if _**you**__-"_

"Don't worry," I replied softly. "My period just ended, so we should be safe."

She disagreed by shaking her head, and I clearly saw the uncertainty and confusion in her eyes before she closed them...

...apparently wracking her brains, trying her hardest to find a way to stop what I had so deliberately started...

...and, as she did, I used the opportunity to raise myself up a few inches and glance down.

Her penis now appeared to be swollen to twice its usual size, and her white cotton underpants were stretched tightly - and obviously very painfully - over it...and it was easy to imagine how much physical and emotional pain she must currently be in.

And I realized that I needed to help her relieve that pain...

...but _how_, when she continued to fight me every step of the way?

There didn't seem to be an easy answer to this, and so I lay there, bracing myself for another onslaught of arguments and resistance, but - much to my surprise - she didn't speak _or_ move...

...and so, I decided to move forward once again. Trembling but determined, I bent my elbows...

...and, shifting until I was directly over her, I lay my nearly naked body against hers again. As I did, I felt her rigid erection pushing upward...

...directly against my crotch...

...and, with a groan, she shifted under me...obviously aching even more, as the additional pressure tormented her genitals...

...and, as it did, I swear I felt her penis shudder in response against me. It was obvious that she was incredibly aroused, but when she spoke, I could still clearly hear the extreme conflict in her voice.

"Cupcake, you're not ready for this yet...I_ know_ you're not!"

Well aware that she could (always) read me like a book with only one glance, I looked away quickly...

...but immediately, she reached up and gently turned me back to face hers.

"...and I don't know why you're doing this right n-"

Afraid that, despite her heightened state of arousal, she might still somehow find the strength put a stop to what I had started, I leaned up at once, cutting her words off with my lips...

...and, before long, I felt her entire body trembling under me as I kissed her.

She was wavering...badly...

...and she knew that I knew it...

...and so, to prevent her from making another attempt to escape, I tightened my arms around her, and continued to kiss her...

...deeply...

...and, less than a minute later, I felt the change in her body, as it went limp in my arms.

She had given in.

Still, she turned her face aside, until our lips broke contact; and when I stared down at her questioningly, she looked up into my eyes and said, with utmost sincerity, "Carls I really, _really_ wish we could wait...like you w-wanted to."

"Shh," I replied, sliding downward and beginning to kiss her chest...

...which must have had a profound effect on her, because she murmured, "Carls, _no!_" sounding incredibly panicked, making a last-ditch effort at resistance, as I shifted my hips to one side...

...and slid my hand down between her legs...

...but her final protest morphed - almost immediately - into a loud gasp...

...as my hand came to rest on the outside of her underpants...

...which I could feel were stretched to their absolute limit under my palm...

...barely able to contain what was inside them...

...and I gasped too, as I felt the feverish heat of her penis through the cloth.

At that moment, she made an odd sound - somewhere between a groan and a squeak - and I felt her erection begin to pulsate noticeably - and repeatedly - in response to my touch...

...and, suddenly apparently unable to take the unbearable pain of her restrained arousal any longer, she moved her hands lower, and tried to pull her underpants down.

I didn't let her.

Instead, I began caressing her powerfully-throbbing erection through them...

...while she moaned, obviously aching badly...

...until, suddenly, she reached up and grabbed my forearms.

"Oh, God, Carls!" she gasped. "I'm...I'm gonna...!"

"No you're not!" I exclaimed, immediately panicking...

...worried that she might orgasm right then...

...which I _absolutely could not _allow to happen.

"Please!" she yelped, clamping her thighs together tightly. "I can't stop it from hap-"

"No, Sam...you can't! Not yet!"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "It hurts! At least let me...I...I need to take them off!" she argued, jerking her hands free from mine and reaching down, trying once again to remove her underpants.

I pinned her wrists.

"No. I don't want you to take them off yet."

Her eyes snapped open. "I have to!" she insisted. "They're too tight!"

"That's good," I replied, struggling to restrain her arms "...because they'll help prevent you from releasing too soon."

She moaned again loudly and closed her eyes.

Oh, God, I'm gonna...I _have _to!"

In response, my right hand flew down between her legs; and, roughly pushing her own hands aside, I cupped her cotton-covered bulge tightly...

...wrapping my fingers around what seemed to be the base of her badly-swollen penis...

...as I replied - firmly and decisively, "No. You can't. Not yet."

"_I have to!"_ she wailed.

"Sam, don't do it! Hold it back!" I demanded...

...watching tears of pain and helplessness welling up in her eyes, as she struggled to regain control over her body...

...and seeing how much she was suffering, I added, much more gently, "Good girl. Now, just breathe for me."

Her breathing was ragged and shaky, but she nodded; and I watched her closely, while she fought hard against the painfully-compelling urge to ejaculate...

...finally managing, nearly two minutes later, to master the impulse...

...and then, I continued to wait, in complete silence, until her breathing had evened out...

...realizing, while I did, that I wasn't the least bit upset with her; because, according to what I've heard, guys like to engage on a fairly regular basis in...in what Sam likes to refer to as 'whacking off'...and, therefore, they learn - through practice - how to prolong their erections...

...but Sam had never had the same opportunity to practice - alone - with hers...

...and, well aware of this, I was determined to be patient with her.

It took nearly another five minutes before she looked up at me and nodded, silently answering the question I was too afraid to ask...

...but, even though I knew she had her body under control for the moment, I also knew that she wasn't going to be able to hold out forever...

...which meant that foreplay was now out of the question, and that I needed to focus on us having intercourse...

...as soon as possible...

...before she - prematurely and completely - lost control. And so, without further delay...

...while holding my breath - in a failed attempt to slow my insanely-rapid heart rate - I deliberately slid my hand under the waistband of her briefs, and far down inside them; and then, for first time in my life...

...I touched a penis.

As I did, I began shaking violently...

...frightened at how huge it was...

...and how hot...

...and how hard...

...quickly becoming aware of how badly she was about to hurt me...

...but also well aware that there was absolutely no other alternative. At that moment, I was snapped back into the present...

...as Sam gasped and then moaned; and, realizing that I had no idea how much longer she'd be able to 'hold back'...only that it definitely wouldn't be for much longer...

...I grabbed her underpants with both hands and pushed them down just past her hips...

...until I had exposed her genitals completely. And then, as I reached down again, with a now-badly-shaking right hand...

...and began to gently caress her testicles...

...I looked closely at her penis...

...and watched as a tiny, slightly whitish-colored dribble of pre-ejaculate escaped from its head...

...balancing for a moment on its very tip...

...before sliding rapidly down the left side of its shaft...

...and, at that moment, it took everything I had not to stop, and to run from the room in tears.

I never wanted it to be like this.

I wanted us to make love...

...all night long.

I wanted us to engage in foreplay first...

...spending as much time as necessary, both of us becoming aroused _gradually_, with a reassuring slowness, as we held each other...

...both of us feeling absolutely safe and secure in each others' arms...

...each of us knowing that we could - and would - stop at any moment...if the other felt scared...

...and if that happened that we would, by mutual agreement, wait until some other day...a day when we both felt completely ready...

...but Sam had already waited for me...for such a long time now...and I knew that there was absolutely no way she'd be able to hold back for much longer.

And I realized that, more than anything, that I_ needed_ her to hold back...

...for as long as she possibly could...

...because, if my wish was going to come true, then it had to involve powerful sacrifice on my part...

...and what could be more powerful than her first time with me?

And what could be even more of a sacrifice than letting her be inside me for as long as she possibly could, before she lost control of her body?

There was only one answer to this question..

...and so, resigned - yet very, very frightened - I rolled over onto my back...

...onto my towel again...

...and pulled her over and across me...

...and, before she could reply or resist, I reached lower and, curling the fingers of both hands into the waistband of her briefs...

...I pulled them down to her knees.

Seconds later, she was clumsily kicking them completely off.

But then she hesitated.

"I...I"m going to...we're going to need a-"

"I know...and I t-took care of that. There's a t-towel under m-me," I murmured...

...attempting - and failing - to hide my badly-shaking voice.

Looking slightly relieved, she nodded...

...and then, as I held my breath...

...she slid her right hand between my lower thighs. I knew exactly why she was doing it, but still, I was too scared to move. She must have realized this, because she thrn reached down with her left hand, and I soon felt her gently pushing my legs far apart...

...and, even though I was now terrified...

...I let her.

Seconds later, she knelt between them...

...and I gasped as she lay her body against mine...

...and I felt her stiff, throbbing penis pressing directly against my crotch...

...and I clearly felt the heat of it through the thin silk of my panties, which were now the only barrier between her massive, swollen erection and my vagina.

We lay there, both of us breathing fearfully...

...and I knew fully well that there soon would be no turning back.

But even though Sam had to be just as aware of this as I was, she bowed her head; and, closing her eyes tightly, she said, with her voice betraying her tremendous internal conflict, "Just...say the word and...and I'll sto-"

Not wanting to hear the rest, because I was now dangerously close to changing my mind, I leaned up and kissed her...

...and, as she kissed me back, I reached down and, sliding my hand between our bodies, I gently began to caress her immense, engorged penis.

Less than a minute later, I felt her raising herself up off me and tugging frantically at my panties...

...and, as I saw them disappear over the edge of the bed, I realized that she was now rushing things because she was having a hard time 'holding back'.

Breathing shakily, she shifted her body to one side and lay down again, and I flinched as I felt her huge, marble-hard erection pressing against the soft skin of my right thigh...

...as she reached down and began to finger me...

...soon noticing how dry I was.

And then, she stopped moving completely, and closed her eyes...

...and quickly shifting her weight onto her knees, and moving her hand from my body to her own, she grabbed tightly onto the shaft of her penis, and began breathing heavily...

...and several long minutes went by as she battled again against the urge to 'let go'.

I lay there fearfully - silent and motionless - letting her take her time.

Finally, opening her eyes again, she reached over to my nightstand and snatched my bottle of almond-scented moisturizer off it. After unscrewing the cap with unsteady fingers, she raised herself up fully; and, sitting back on her heels...

...she spread a generous amount of moisturizer on her penis...

...beginning with the tip...

...and then all the way up its shaft.

Dropping the bottle, she reached down, and I felt her damp hands sliding under my knees...

...and pulling my legs up into a bent position...

...until my feet were flat against the mattress.

And then, she spread my thighs far apart...

...and reached for the moisturizer bottle once again.

As she squeezed a large pool of it onto her right hand, I closed my eyes...

...knowing what was coming next...

...and seconds later, I gasped as I felt her fingers - smelling strongly of almonds - slipping between the outer lips of my vagina, and spreading their slickness liberally and thoroughly up and down the entire length of my vulva...

...as she lubricated me.

Even though my heart was now pounding in my ears, I still heard the dull thud as she set my moisturizer bottle back over on the nightstand...

...and soon, I felt her warm, naked chest touching mine again.

And then, as I lay under her, fearfully aware of the way her hammering heart was causing _both_ of our chests to vibrate...

...she reached down between her legs...

...and took hold of her swollen, well-lubricated penis...

...and, after a bit of searching and fumbling, she managed to press its tip firmly against the entrance to my vagina...

...and at that moment, I swear that my heart stopped beating.

She sounded near tears as she said..._again_, "Carls...are y-you sure you don't want m-me to stop? Just t-_tell_ me to and I wil-"

I shook my head...

...and opened my mouth to answer...

...but my words were pre-empted by a loud gasp...

...as I felt the very tip of her penis's large, throbbing, wedge-shaped head slowly begin to enter my tight, unyielding vagina...

...but my gasp soon turned into an loud, involuntary squeak...

...as it met with massive resistance...after sinking in only a fraction of an inch.

"Breathe, Carls," she directed, "...maybe it will help-ow!" she finished...

...as she pushed forward again...

...but failed to enter me further...

...and, as she did, I swear I felt her penis bend - sideways and with a snap - against my leg.

With her face contorted in pain, she bent down and rubbed it, moaning loudly.

"Oh, God...I can't...it won't go insi-"

Now way beyond terrified, I reached down, and covered her hand with my own...

...and then, I said the most difficult words I've ever said in my entire life.

"Just do what you h-have to do."

And then, suddenly, she was staring down at me...

...like she absolutely could not believe what she'd just heard.

"Are...are you sure?" she asked unsteadily...

...and I nodded.

She still wasn't fully convinced.

"Are you_ absolutely sure_?" she repeated...

...and I bit my lower lip...hard.

"Y-yes...but please go sl-_ow!_" I cried...

...as, without warning, she thrust her penis forward forcefully...

...and, as she had caught me off guard, it quickly, successfully..._and agonizingly_...penetrated the entire length of my vagina...

...and at that moment, I felt something deep inside me rip...

...and, due to abundant, warm wetness that followed...

...I realized that I was bleeding...badly...and threw my left arm up over my mouth, barely suppressing a scream.

"Oh! Oh, God!" I shrieked against my forearm.

It was, without a doubt, the most excruciating thing I've ever experienced.

Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, trying with only partial success to hold back hot tears of indescribable pain, I wrapped my shaking arms around her..

...desperately wanting her to ask if I was okay...

...and to ask me again if I wanted her to stop...

...but she didn't.

Instead, without a word, she slid both her hands under my back...

...and then began, with difficulty, pushing her penis up inside me...over and over...

...but, even though I could tell that she was trying to be gentle...

...I began crying silently anyway, _because it hurt so badly_...

...so badly that it took everything I had not to shove her off me...

...and to scream that I was never going to let her touch me again.

But I didn't...

...because I realized that I had to be unselfish...

...and, as I looked up at her face...

...it was easy to see that she didn't realize what she was doing.

Her eyes were half closed, and she looked like she barely knew where she was...

...and it was obvious that she was focused on nothing else but on _holding back_...

...because I had commanded her to.

I know that, due to her lack of attention on me, it may sound as if Sam was being completely selfish...but I assure you that she wasn't.

After all, _I_ was the one who had initiated this...

_...despite her frequent and effusive protests..._

...and _I_ was the one who had forbidden her to end things quickly...like she had wanted to.

And now,_ I _had to be the one to make sure we finished what I'd started...

...but only after she was _completely_ physically unable to continue.

And so I lay there, not protesting, even I badly wanted for it...and for her...to stop...

...but, more than anything else, I badly wanted her to return to her old self...and so, out of love, I submitted...

...and let her continue to hurt me..

...lying in silence under her, clearly feeling each and every forceful, stabbing thrust of her penis...

...as she buried its entire length inside me...deeply...in an agonizing, unsteady rhythm...rubbing painfully against my vagina's highly sensitive inner walls...

...over and over.

After I had endured several minutes of sheer hell, a look of panic suddenly crossed her face; and, fearful, I asked, "Sam?"

Her eyes snapped closed, and there was no answer...

...but I could tell that she was getting close...

...and, even though I desperately wanted this to be over...I also knew that I absolutely had to demonstrate how badly I wanted her to get what I'd wished for...

...and so, as her breathing suddenly became very shaky and shallow, and I exclaimed. "Sam, no! Hold back!"

"I can't, Carls!" she gasped, grabbing onto my shoulders tightly.

"You have to!" I yelled.

"No! Oh, God! Oh, please..._I can't!_" she wailed.

"Yes!" I insisted. "You will! Don't you even_ think _of letting go!"

"_I have to!"_ she bellowed.

Immediately, I slid my left hand under her chest and pushed it up slightly off mine; while sliding my right hand even lower, fumbling around until I found the base of her penis, which was protruding a few inches from my vagina...

...just far enough for me to wrap my fingers around it tightly.

As I did, she cried out in pain; and, leaning up, I looked directly into her eyes; and, fighting back tears, I yelled, "No! You're not going to! Not until I tell you!"

"Why are you doing this?" she sobbed. "Why are you making me wait when you_ know _that I can'-"

"Don't question me, Sam! Just do it!"

And then, as I watched tears of desperation, helplessness, and agony welling up in her eyes, I managed - despite the raging pain between my legs - to gain some control over my voice; and I continued, more softly, "Come on, you can do this. Just a little while longer, and then it's going to feel...so good!"

"It alr-ready d-does," she gasped with effort...

...reaching down and pulling my hand off her penis...

...and both of us lay there for a minute or two, breathing heavily.

As we did, I moved my hands to the backs of her shoulders...

...the muscles of which were so tense that they were standing out like mountain ranges...

...and waited, while she somehow managed to regain control over her erection once again...and once she had...

...she lowered her body back onto mine...

...and began thrusting into me again...

...quickly and even more painfully than before...

...until, several minutes later, unable to take it any longer; and just as I thought I was going to scream from the agony...

...her body suddenly stilled...

...and she pulled me against her.

And, as she lowered the full weight of her body onto mine, I felt her penis penetrating me as deeply as it possibly could...

...and, as its shaft buried itself all the way up inside...

...completely filling the entire length of my highly-sensitive vagina, and stretching it out, excruciatingly, in all directions...

...I clearly felt its tip pressing - directly and tightly - against the slightly indented opening to my cervix.

And then, suddenly, I realized the full magnitude of what she was about to do.

And that she wasn't wearing a condom.

And I had never been so scared...

...because, even though my period had just ended, nothing about this whole ordeal made any sense whatsoever...

...and so, how was I to know that I really was 'safe'...

...and that my unselfishness wasn't going to be tested again?

In a huge way?

Nine months from now?

No sooner had this thought occurred to me, then I felt her grab onto me tightly...

...and at that moment, terrified, I completely lost every shred of my resolve to finish this...

...and began to struggle frantically...

...desperate to prevent her from ejaculating inside me...

...desperately trying to get away from her...

...but it was too late.

She was too strong.

And she was holding onto me too tightly.

She was going to do it...

...and I knew that, no matter what I did now, I couldn't stop her from doing it...

...but I realized that, for me to be truly unselfish, that I had to submit to her; and so...I did the most difficult thing I've ever had to do in my entire life:

I stopped struggling.

And then, with a groan and a sigh, she completely lost control of her pelvic muscles...

...and I closed my eyes...and grabbed onto her as tightly as I could...

...as, with her entire body shaking violently, she released months - _possibly years_ - of pent-up passion...

...and had her first orgasm with me...

_...and in me..._

...and the look of utter bliss and euphoria on her face was indescribable, as she closed her eyes...

...and at that moment, despite the fact that I wasn't feeling aroused in the least, my vaginal walls contracted once...

...suddenly, involuntarily, and tightly...

...clamping down on her penis and trapping it within my body as she ejaculated...

...spasming over and over...

...and I gasped, as a torrent of hot, thick juices gushed powerfully from the end of her swollen, pulsating erection, deep inside of me...

...welling up and drenching every part of my vagina, which began to sting painfully, as her semen made contact with its badly abraised interior...

...and then overflowing from it...

..finally leaking out of me and spilling onto the towel I was lying on...

...as, completely spent - in every sense of the word - she fell down on top of me...

...and I lay there, unfulfilled and terrified, with her now-limp penis still buried deep inside me.

I opened my eyes as she kissed my forehead; and I saw her looking down at me...

...with a face full of conflicting emotions...

...as, trying my hardest not to cry, I put my arms around her.

Neither of us spoke.

It was almost two minutes later when she finally pulled out...

...and I looked down - in horror - at the amount of blood that wetly streaked the entire length of her penis; completely covering its head...

...and smeared all the way up its shaft.

And then, I looked up at her face, to see that she was staring at it too...

...equally shaken...

...and, without a word, she propelled herself off the bed and hurried - unsteadily - to the bathroom.

And at that moment, despite my overwhelming pain, I desperately wanted to sit up...

...no, actually to _jump up_...

...and to let her semen drain out of me...

...or, better yet, to run into the bathroom and use the hand-held shower head to douche...

...trying to wash every last bit of it out of my vagina...

...even though I knew, from Health class, that douching isn't a valid form of birth control...and that it can even be counter-productive...

...but I also knew that, if I did, I would be compromising my decision to be completely unselfish...

...and that there was absolutely no way I could do that...

...and so, I continued to lie there, messy and dripping, allowing most of Sam's cum to continue clinging wetly to every part of my vagina's interior...

...while fighting my hardest against the nearly overwhelming urge to get up and try to shake it out of me...

...and fighting equally hard against the urge to pray that none of her sperm had penetrated my cervix...

_...and that I wasn't ovulating at that moment..._

...instead, promising myself that, no matter what happened to me now, I would accept it - obediently and without question - because that's how much I love her...

..and that's how much her transformation back - and therefore her happiness - means to me.

Sam soon returned from the bathroom, her genitals now clean; holding an ovenight pad in one hand and a dark, damp washcloth in the other. Stopping at the dresser - and completely ignoring(!) the sizable display of Easter candy that I'd left there for her - she soon returned to my side of the bed, wearing a clean pair of her new underpants...which, despite her having just ejaculated, were still way too tight on her...

...and holding a clean pair of my panties, in addition to the items that she'd brought back from the bathroom.

Hot tears of pain stung my eyes, completely blurring my vision, as I felt the warmth of the washcloth touching my vagina; and, even though I could tell that she was being as gentle as she could...

...the sharp, agonizing spasms between my legs left no doubt that I was going to be incredibly sore for the next several days. I wiped my streaming eyes on my left forearm and then looked up, into her expressive eyes, which said it all...

...and, from what I saw reflected in them, there was no question that she absolutely hated herself for what she had just done.

Managing a slight, sad smile, I shook my head...

...and then closed my eyes, as I continued to submit silently to her ministrations.

Once she had finished cleaning me up, she removed the towel from under me and, after tossing it across the room and into the hamper, she lay down next to me...

...without touching me...

...while I waited in silence.

Finally, she spoke.

"I...d-don't know wh-what t-to say."

I turned on the pillow to face her...

...and, without answering, shook my head again...

...and then, I held out my arms.

After a moment's hesitation, she moved into them...

...and I watched as she closed her eyes...

...and lay with her upper body trembling against mine...

...as I lay under her, reflecting on what had just happened.

It had been horrible.

Every single aspect of it...

...with none of the closeness that I had craved - and had dreamed about - ever since I first realized that I was in love with Sam...

...not at all the way I had hoped and dreamed that our first time would be.

And, to my great disappointment, Sam had barely spoken during the whole thing...

...not even to tell me that she loved me...

...and, worst of all, even though she'd told me that being inside me had felt good, there was absolutely no assurance that any of what had just happened would even help...despite the fact that I'd just sacrificed my happiness for hers...

_...and my virginity..._

...and, as I lay there, unable to ignore the harsh, persistent ache that was traumatizing my entire pelvic region...

...and the abundant, sticky wetness - from both of our bodies - that continued to ooze and dribble out of me...

...I realized that there were so many things that needed to be sorted out...

...by both of us...

...which meant that I had to talk to her - immediately...

...but before I could, the slow, even sound of her breathing told me that she'd fallen asleep...

...and, despite my determination to discuss the present...and the future...with her...

...hoping to make some sense of it all...

...less than five minutes later - way beyond exhausted, and despite my overwhelming pain - so had I.


	5. Chapter 5

"Carls! Hey, Carls...oh, God..._Wake Up!_"

I'm not sure if it was her loudness or the vigorous way she was shaking me (probably both), but I soon opened my eyes to a bedroom flooded (unexpectedly) with sunlight. Throwing my right arm across the upper half of my face in an attempt to prevent myself from being blinded, I lay there in silence...

...as every single detail of what I'd just endured immediately came rushing back to me...

...beginning with the still-unbearable pain between my legs.

Seconds later, Sam reached under the covers, searching, until she found my left wrist...

...and uncovering my eyes, I looked over to see her kneeling next to me, still nearly naked. I couldn't read her face; but, as she pulled my left hand closer until it touched her...between her legs...

...I looked down...

...seeing (and feeling) nothing except the soft, floppy, stretched-out cotton of her briefs...

...and the way the were sagging - emptily - away from her crotch...

...while she exclaimed, in a voice choked with emotion, "It's gone, Carls!_ It's gone!_"

But still, her enthusiastic pronouncement and my half-conscious awareness weren't nearly enough to convince me.

I needed to see for myself.

And so, I reached over with both hands and pulled her underpants down to her knees...

...and found myself staring at her fine, blonde pubic hair...

...and nothing else...

...but,_ still _unsure if I was actually - and fully - awake, I slid my left hand between the tops of her upper thighs, and then slowly extended my index finger and pressed it upward carefully...

...and listened to her gasp sharply as it sank easily between her outer lips...

...while, much to my relief, I felt nothing inside them but the numerous, slightly-damp folds of her vulva.

As I retracted my gently probing finger she exclaimed, "Everything is okay now! I'm back to nor...oh my God, Carls!" she stopped, immediately correcting herself, "W-w-what am I saying?"

Before I could open my mouth to reply, she quickly leaned over me; and, laying her hand against my cheek she continued, "I'm so sorry about last night! I don't know what happened...or even why it happened...but I'm so sorry that I hurt you...and that I wasn't even paying attention to your nee-"

"Sam," I interrupted, shaking my head, "it's okay."

"No, its not!" she yelled, with an obvious catch in her voice. "I _know_ I hurt you!"

She was right...

...and desperate to hide the pain and fear in my eyes from her, I looked away...

...but within seconds she had turned me back to face her, while stammering, "And now...w-what if y-you're..."

I reached up and put my fingers over her lips.

"Sam...you're back the way you were...so none of that matters now," I lied...

...eager to divert her attention - and mine - from dwelling on what had happened just a few hours ago...

...and on its very possible (and very scary) repercussions.

She wasn't distracted.

"It does matter! I saw how much I made you bleed! You're still hurting now..._aren't you?_" she demanded.

"A little," I lied (again)...

...transparently...

...and at once, she reached down and grabbed both of my hands.

"Oh my God! Oh, my God, Carls..._I'm so sorry!_"

I shook my head again and, without disentangling my hands from hers, I pulled her down and over, across my chest...

...wrapping my arms around her and hugging her tightly, while blinking back the hot tears of fear and uncertainty that were beginning to sting the outer corners of my eyes.

She tilted her head back, away from my body, and then she looked down at me, asking gently, "Tell me how badly you're hurting...and I want the truth this time."

"It...it's pretty bad" I admitted...

...and she immediately released herself from my arms and sat back up.

"Wait here. Everything is going to be o...I'll be right back" she announced, sounding slightly distracted, as she slid off the bed and then headed to the bathroom...

...while I continued to lie there, trying - and failing - to ignore the agony between my legs...

...which, if anything, felt exponentially worse than it had when I'd passed out from exhaustion several hours ago.

A few minutes later, I heard the toilet flush...

...and a minute or two after_ that_, Sam walked back in, with her briefs still clinging to her tightly, everywhere...

...except for low in the front...where they bagged far out...emptily.

And then, my gaze shifted from her crotch to her right hand...

...or, more accurately, to what she was holding in it:

A large, half-used tube of Pure Aloe Vera gel, which I'd bought the previous summer, when she'd (unsurprisingly) ignored my advice to use sun block...and had ended up with a pretty bad burn.

"Sam?"

"Shh," she replied softly, approaching the bed. "It says that this stuff is safe to use all over...and I remember how it took the sting out of my sunburn as soon as you put it on me; so now let's try it on this...okay?"

Even though I was far from sold on her idea, I nodded slowly (and reluctantly), knowing that even if she was right about it being safe to use on me...

..._there__..._

_..._that she would soon be rubbing it onto (and into(?) my bruised, lacerated vagina...increasing its level of pain from horrible to excruciating.

With a smile, she sat next to me and reached for the covers. Pulling them off me, her eyes met mine and she said, in a low, calm voice, "Don't worry, Cupcake, in a minute you're going to feel so much better. Do you trust me?"

"Y-you know I do" I answered, shifting my gaze up to the ceiling and hoping for the best...

...as I began preparing myself for the worst.

"I'm so glad," she replied, looking down, "because the last thing I want is hurt you again, Ca**-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-argh!**" she finished loudly...

...while I flinched sharply.

"Sam?" I asked...

...but my inquiry was met with no answer.

"Sam...what's wrong?" I asked, looking down in concern. "Did it soak through my panties and leak onto the she-**e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e! **I screeched.

And, at that moment, I found myself struggling to not pass out...

...as I stared down...

_...in abject horror..._

...at what was straining - both forcefully and painfully - against the front of the inside of my panties...

...and which was clearly visible through the thin white silk.

It was huge...every bit as huge as Sam's had been...

...and every bit as circumcised...

...and when I saw how hard and swollen it was (due to my morning erection)...without even thinking, I yanked the front of my panties down...

...releasing it...

...and, the instant I did, my physical agony immediately decreased by about 80 percent...

...while my mental and emotional agony _immediately_ _increased_ by at least_ 800 _percent.

And, as it burst free from my panties, and into full view of both of us...

...Sam let out a scream so high-pitched that I couldn't (and still can't) believe it had come from her...

...because, even to this day, I've never thought her capable of making such a sound.

With a long, loud cry of shock and anguish, I sat up; and, as the realization of what I was seeing hit me fully...

...with all the subtlety of a nuclear warhead...

...I immediately began scooching backwards on the bed, as far and as quickly as I could, until my back collided solidly and painfully with the headboard...

...somehow convinced that I could 'get away from it'...

...but there it remained, firmly attached between my legs...

...just above my incredibly wrinkled and bulging, pinkish-brown scrotum.

"N-O-O-O-O-O-O-O!" I shrieked...

...while Sam yelled, "WHAT THE F-U-U-U-U-U-U-U-U-U-U-CK!"

Desperately hoping that I was dreaming (or even hallucinating), I extended a cautious, shaking finger...

...and, screwing up all my resolve, I tentatively touched 'it'...

...and, as I did, I swear I saw it jump enthusiastically in response...

...and I screamed again...

...so loudly that Sam flinched violently...

...and actually flew straight up off the bed...

...landing back down on the mattress with a massive shudder...

...which seemed to somehow snap her mind back to lucidity.

And then, while I continued to stare down...completely paralyzed with fear...

...my facial features suddenly contorted sharply as I realized that, in addition to this most-unwelcome and unforeseen problem...

...I now had another problem as well...

...and a serious one at that.

Sensing this, Sam tumbled out of bed, quickly swept me up in her arms, and wordlessly carried me rapidly down the hall and into the bathroom.

Kicking the door shut behind her, she crossed the room, and then set me down in front of the toilet...

_...facing it._

"Sam no!" I yelled, trying to turn around...

...but she grabbed my shoulders and kept me facing forward.

"Carls, I_ know_ that you have to...I can tell by the look on your face..._and_ because it's been hours since you last went."

"It w-was," I admitted, "...and I _do_...but I w-want to sit d-down!"

"You can't," she stated flatly.

"I can! I will! _I have to!_"

"No, Carls...you _can't..._trust me on this," she repeated, tightening her grip as I began to squirm. "When I tried it the uh..._first time_, I found that, when you pee sitting down, as soon as it hits the bowl it ricochets back up and sprays your butt and your, uh, other stuff."

"No," I sobbed, trying to look over my shoulder at her as I begged, "please don't m-make me do it this w-way!"

"Shh," she said softly, "Everything is going to be okay. I promise it only takes a couple of minutes."

"Sam, no!" I persisted.

"Why not?" she asked.

"I don't w-want to touch it!"

"Shh. You're going to be fine," she answered, and seconds later, I felt her taking hold of my panties, which I had already pulled to just below my crotch, and pushing them all the way down to my knees...

...and then she agilely wrapped her right leg around the front of my body, and lifted the toilet seat with her foot...

...and then, she reached reached forward around my hips, while resting her cheek against my bare back...

...and, after a bit of searching, she found what she was looking for...

...and very, very gently wrapped both of her warm hands completely around the shaft of my penis...

...and, suddenly feeling very lightheaded, I leaned back against her body for support, while holding my breath, as she raised herself up on tiptoe (I'm taller than she is), and looked over my shoulder...

...and, while I stood there, petrified, in her arms...

...and in her hands...

...completely terrified and helpless...

...yet needing to pee so desperately that there was absolutely no way I could run from the room...

...she aimed the tip of its head down, in the general direction of the toilet bowl.

"Sam, I...I can't do this!" I insisted, near tears.

"Yes, you can," she countered. "Just close your eyes."

(Unfortunately) seeing no alternative, I obeyed her...nodding my compliance...

...and then she said slowly, "Now, think about how badly you have to go...you _do_ have to go badly, don't you?"

"Y-yes," I replied truthfully...

...and I felt her nod her approval.

"Okay, now just pretend that you're sitting dow-yes...that's it...good girl," she said, and I heard the smile in her voice...

...as I - with effort - managed to release my first thin, hesitant stream of urine.

"Oh, no...its its going everywhere!" I gasped, "...oh, no, wait...it's stopped."

"It's okay, Carls, just put your hands on top of mine and help me aim...yeah, that's it," she said encouragingly.

Relieved that I didn't actually have to 'touch myself', I did as she directed...

...and we both stood in silence for nearly a minute, while I focused on continuing...

...and, after only a bit of concentration, the floodgates opened, and relieved (in more ways than one), I continued urinating...

...trying not to think about what was going on between my legs, as I corrected her aim...

...looking directly into the bowl, rather than at my hands...and what was under them.

Fortunately, less than a minute later, I was finished; and then, to my surprise, Sam began to shake my penis...

...rather enthusiastically...

...and, as I watched the last few dribbles of urine drain out...

...I also felt it stiffen because of what her hands were doing to it.

"See! I told you it would be okay!" she said triumphantly, as I moved my hands off hers and she let go of my penis...

...and turned me around...

...and leaned down. Seconds later, I heard a loud ripping sound as she removed my pad from my panties.

"It's...what the...how could it...?" she asked in surprise...

...and, fearfully curious, I looked down...

...to see that my pad was completely dry.

"How could this be dr...?" she asked again, bewildered. "...I saw how badly you were bleeding last night!"

"I know...I mean, I _don't_ know!" I answered, almost sobbing, while I watched her toss it into the wastebasket.

Immediately, she turned to me once again...

...and, as she shifted her gaze from my face to my penis...

...I tried frantically to hide it from her by attempting to pull my panties back up. However, even though there was no longer a pad in them, they were still entirely too tight...but, despite knowing that it was going to be impossible, I continued struggling in vain...

...until, finally, Sam pushed my hands away.

"Don't do that," she advised, bending forward and pulling them back down to my knees, and then standing back up and hugging me...

...flinching noticeably, the instant my semi-stiff penis made direct contact with her bare thigh.

"Don't worry, Cupcake, everything is going to be okay!"

"Its not...you _know_ its not!" I wailed.

"It is," she insisted. "Listen to me; we're going to fix this, uh...situation. Permanently. So here's what we need to do. First of all, you take a shower, and then we'll-"

"No!" I gasped. "Y-you know I don't w-want to t-touch it!"

She nodded understandingly.

"Okay, fine. I'll get in the shower with you and_ I'll_-"

"No, Sam!"

She frowned.

"Why not?"

"I...I don't w-want you to s-see it!"

"I've already seen-" she began, but then stopped herself, and took a steadying breath before continuing, "Look, Carls...I know from firsthand experience how stressed you are right now...so just take one anyway and you'll feel a lot better...and then we'll sit down and talk...and_ together_ we'll figure this out, and _then_ we'll fix it...I promise!"

"No, I don't want to take one!" I continued to argue...

...as she steered me across the room...

...and pulled my panties the rest of the way off...

...and, before I could protest again, she turned the water on, picked me up, set me down inside the tub...

...and pulled the curtain closed behind me.

Shocked and shaking, I nevertheless, somehow, managed to get through the ordeal...

...and, fifteen minutes later, completely clean (yes...even _there_), I opened the shower curtain, to see her holding a towel...

...and looking directly and politely into my eyes.

After I'd dried off, she insisted on carrying me into the bedroom.

I let her...

...and then, she set me down by the dresser, while still completely ignoring(!) the candy I'd left there for her.

But, as I reached out to open my panty drawer, she quickly put her hand over mine.

"No, Carls. You know you can't right now."

"No!" I gasped...horrified...as the situation's only alternative suddenly became clear. "I don't w-want to wear those...those _m-men's_ underpants!"

"Okay...do you want to try a pair of my boxers instead?" she offered.

"N-no...I don't, because then everyone will be able to see my...my..."

That's as far as I got...

...before breaking down completely.

Without hesitating, she pulled me close, blocking my hands with her body as I reached over, desperately trying to get to my panties again...

...and a few short minutes later - to my total mortification - I found myself wearing a new pair of ugly, painfully-tight white briefs...

...the same ones I'd bought for her yesterday.

Noticing the way she was watching me look at myself in the mirror, I turned around - lower lip trembling - and leaned forward into her open arms, as she said, "I know, Carls, I know they hurt."

"Sam, what am I g-gonna do? I don't w-w-w-ant it!" I sobbed against her shoulder.

"Come on...don't cry. We're going to figure this out...I promise," she said, attempting - but failing - to reassure me, as she tightened her arms.

"Why? Why did this h-have to happen?" I asked tearfully.

"I don't know, Cupcake. I wish I did."

"But_ why?_" I repeated. "I never meant for it to happen this way...not like thi-"

And, at that moment, I felt her body go totally rigid against me...

...and, seconds later, mine did the same...

...as I realized what I'd just said.

Pulling back quickly, she asked, looking more than a little confused...

...and (even worse) slightly betrayed, "Carls, what did you mean by that?"

Alarmed at my unintentional revelation, I leaned forward, toward her left shoulder again, but she gently pushed me away from her.

"Carls? What did you m...no, look at me...what did you mean? You never meant for _what_ to happen this way?" she repeated.

"I c-can't tell you," I mumbled in alarm, shifting my gaze to the floor.

"You mean...you mean that you _know_ why this happened to me...don't you?" she continued in astonishment.

"I...I-"

Slightly trembling fingers curled around the bottom of my chin and she raised it until my eyes met hers, and then asked unsteadily, "Carls, this isn't even about _me _anymore...so why won't you tell me? Maybe if I know what happened...then I'll be able to help _you_."

I immediately shifted my gaze downward again...

...while she waited in silence...

...but, terrified at the possible (and potentially catastrophic) consequences of me 'fessing up', I found that I couldn't bring myself to answer.

After she'd stared at me staring at my feet for nearly a minute, Sam - without warning - picked me up, carried me over to the bed and, after sitting down, pulled me down onto her lap. Taking a deep breath, she, looked directly into my eyes and continued, "Listen...I promise not to be mad, no matter what you say...if you'll just be honest with me. Now, I want you to explain what happened to me yesterday...and _why._"

Upon hearing the sincerity with which she'd promised, I felt my apprehension lessen noticeably...

...and, as a result, I realized that I had to tell her.

Without a word, I slowly - and shakily - released myself from her arms, got up from her lap, and walked across the room for my handbag. Approaching the bed again, I opened it, reached inside, pulled out the colorful Oswell's Oddities brochure, and held it out to her.

With an expression of total confusion on her face, she took it from my hand slowly and looked at it closely...

...while I sat down beside her on the bed...

...and waited nervously.

It took her less than two minutes to read the entire thing; and then she looked up from it and over at me.

"I...don't understand," she said slowly.

I hesitated for a (very) long moment, and then, deciding that complete and honest disclosure was the only sensible option at that point, I answered, "D-do you remember when w-we were in Mr. Oswell's tent?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, uh...you see, Sam, it's because uh...that's why you became a guy."

Immediately, her body stiffened...

...as she came to a hasty and completely incorrect conclusion.

"You mean that rotten S.O.B. somehow did that to me..._to us?" _she yelled. "I'll kill him!"

"No!" I exclaimed, interrupting before she had a chance to become completely homicidal. "This didn't have anything to do with him!"

"It _had_ to!" she shouted, her rage and indignation mounting rapidly. "After what I just read! Was there something shady in the icing on those cupcakes...or in that fried chicken batter? I hope that scum's life insurance is paid up!" she bellowed, jumping up off the bed.

Alarmed, I reached out with both hands and quickly grabbed the back of her underpants. Dragging her down onto the bed again, I said, "Listen to me! You turning into a guy wasn't because of Mr. Oswell! While he was on the phone, and you and I were talking, you...you were holding that shrunken head, remember?"

"Yeah..._so?_" she retorted (loudly).

"Well," I continued, "believe it or not, that thing has a curse attached to it...and, remember when you said, 'Sometimes I wish I was a guy'? Well, because you were holding the head when you said that, your wish was granted and...and you began turning into one."

"What?" she gasped, jumping to her feet again and spinning around to face me. No way! _No fucking way!_"

Grabbing both of her arms, I pulled her back down beside me.

"I know it seems impossible to believe, but that's what happened!" I insisted.

"No! It can't be!" she spluttered, still in total denial. "That's impossible!"

"Sam, I _swear_ that's how it happened! What other explanation could there possibly be?"

Without bothering to ponder this question, she opened her mouth to reply...

...but solutions (and words) failed her completely...

...and acknowledging that she was at a total loss for an answer of _any_ kind, she lowered her head and looked down at her feet; sitting there in silence...

...for an incredibly long time...

...before finally managing to utter, "Then why..._how_...did I...change bac-"

I reached over and laid my hand on her left knee as I explained, "L-last night, right after I bought your surprise Easter candy, I went back to the carnival and told Mr. Oswell what had happened...and he explained everything to me...and then, to change you back, I held the head myself and wished that you wouldn't be a guy anymore..._and it worked_...but now...now I..._I'm a g-g-g_-"

I couldn't continue.

Turning to her left, Sam wrapped her arms around me; and nearly five minutes passed before I was able to continue, "But I n-never asked for it to h-happen to _m-me!_"

Sam continued to sit, deep in thought, with her chin resting on my shoulder, for what seemed forever; but finally, she asked, "Then...then how come you're turning into one anyw-"

"I don't know!" I howled. "I don't have any idea!"

"All right...all right," she answered, caressing the back of my head, and then leaning away to look into my streaming eyes. "If we stay calm I'm sure we can figure this out." She took a deep breath. "Okay, let's go over this...in detail...from the very beginning. I want you to tell me, word-for-word, _exactly_ what you said to Oswell last night. What's the first thing he said to you when you walked into his tent?"

I wiped my eyes on the back of my forearm and thought hard before answering, "Uh, it was 'Oof!' He was walking out, and I was running in...and I slammed into him...and almost knocked him down."

She nodded. "Okay. Did he seem pissed off about that?"

"No...just winded," I replied.

"Well, that's good...so he probably didn't do this out of spite," she concluded (accurately). "So then what happened?"

"Uh, I apologized, and asked if I could speak to him for a few minutes...because it was really, really important."

Sam nodded again.

"All right...go on."

"Um...I tried to tell him what had..._you know_...happened to your body, but I was too embarrassed, so he had me write it down. I just wrote, 'Sam woke up with a penis. She doesn't want one, and now we desperately need to know how to get rid of it'."

I paused for a moment, as I tried to recall the next part of the conversation exactly. "Anyway, then he asked me if you had touched that shrunken head...and then he...he brought it over to the desk...and put it in my hand!"

"What?" she shouted.

"He did," I confirmed, before adding, "And I admitted that you had been holding it...and then he wanted me to repeat, word-for-word, the conversation you and I had had during his phone call. And, even though it was embarrassing because we were talking about periods, I did...and I told him _everything_...including all about what had happened earlier with Freddie at the GVS...and then I told him how you said 'Sometimes I wish I was a guy'...but that it was all a mistake; but he said it didn't sound like one...and that you seemed adamant in your wish...and I said, 'sometimes I wish_ I _was a guy too...don't punish her for...for..."

My voice trailed off...

...and, as it did, I froze...

...as Sam asked, "And during this, you were still holding the head?

"Y-y-y-es," I admitted...

...and she yelled, "Oh, my God, Carls! _You wished for it, too!_"

And I almost blacked out.

I vaguely recollect Sam shaking me...vigorously...and, as I managed to regain full consciousness...I found myself lying flat on my back...

...but with my head still spinning...

...when suddenly, she leaned over me, reached down, and grabbed both of my hands.

"That's it!" she yelled. Don't you see? All we have to do is go back there and fix this by wishing again! If it worked before, then it'll work now!"

I looked up at her, highly doubtful.

"But...what if it _d-doesn't _work?"

"Of course it's going to work!" she exclaimed. "You proved that last night! We'll tell Oswell what happened to you, and then we'll take turns wishing, and _then_ we'll wish for the same thing...together...and this time we'll do it the right way! We'll wish that we were both back to our old selves...and that neither one of us will ever have uh...guy parts again! That way, _all _the bases will be covered, and we won't have to worry about this happening to us anymore."

But still, and for very good reasons, I was far from convinced.

"Sam, I...do you really think it'll work again? What if a person is only ever entitled to _one _wish?"

"Screw that! I _know_ it'll work!" she repeated determinedly...

...and feeling slightly reassured by her absolute conviction, I nodded...

...and as I exhaled in relief Sam continued, "Okay, this is Tuesday, and Oswell said that his show was opening today...did he mention what time?"

"No."

Frowning slightly, she glanced over at the clock on my nightstand.

"Well, it's still kind of early...only 9:30...but we'll start getting ready now. Since it's their first day, I'm sure there's going to be a lot for him to to do before they open to the public...which means he'll probably get there by noon at the latest."

That made sense. I nodded.

Sam stood up.

"Look, I know I'm still a sweaty, scuzzy mess from last night. Do you mind if I take a fast shower?"

"N-no."

She smiled down at me.

"Okay. I'll be right back, and then we'll get dressed and have a boring, nutritious breakfast...and then we'll go see Oswell...and_ then_, right after you've changed back, we'll have a huge, Easter candy orgy to celebrate!" she announced with determination, while stuffing the Oswell's Oddities brochure she was still holding back into my handbag.

Leaning forward, she planted an affectionate, lingering kiss on my forehead...

...and then headed for bathroom, while I continued to sit on my bed...

...well aware that I hadn't finished the rest of last night's story.

But then again...how can I _ever_ tell her the rest? How can I tell her about my sacrifice? And that it's the _real_ reason why she changed back into a girl?

And, more importantly, how could I possibly ask the same from her? There's absolutely _no way_ I can _ever_ ask her to do that for me...

...but, then again, I thought, maybe I won't have to.

Maybe she's right that just wishing for me to change back will be enough. After all, Sam had been a guy for an entire day before _she_ had changed back; so maybe it was just a matter of time. And then, I shifted uneasily...

...as I realized that, last night, maybe I had been _way _too impatient to see results...

...and had actually ended up having (incredibly-unwanted) sex with her for nothing.

I shook my head to clear that unpleasant thought from it, and then immediately focused back on the issue at hand, as I continued with my line of reasoning.

Maybe just wishing for my transformation really would work...especially if both of us were wishing for the same thing...together...which would definitely have twice the impact of one person wishing alone...

...and then, all I'd have to do is make sure that I waited long enough!

And so, convinced that this was - indeed - the best course of action, I made the deliberate decision to wait...

...determined that, once I had made my wish to change back, that I would wait, _patiently_, for a whole day...an entire 24 hours...and maybe I actually _will_ change back into a girl...

...and then I'll_ never_ have to tell her what I did for her...

...and I'll_ never_ have to ask her to do the same for me.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Sam was back from the bathroom. After drying off and hurriedly brushing her hair, she began rummaging around in her 'Sam' drawer, soon pulling out a pair of ice-blue, penguin motif boxer shorts...

...and I watched in envy as she put them on...

...jealous that she was now able to wear her own, regular underpants; while I was forced to wear these hideously-ugly ones...

...which, despite being painfully - almost unbearably - tight, did little to hide the bulge of my massive, unwanted penis...

...and my equally-unwanted, badly-aching testicles.

Once she was fully dressed, Sam helped me try on several pairs of her baggiest pants...

...finally giving her approval to a pair of oversized, navy blue sweats...

...and, once I'd put them on, noticing (to my relief) that they actually did provide _some _degree of camouflage, I sat down on the edge of my bed and tied my sneakers...

...and then, once she had reminded me that Spencer was over at Socko's, and that we were - indeed - alone...

...we headed downstairs.

Ten minutes later, I was watching her as she sat, hunched over the kitchen table, trying valiantly to choke down a heaping, healthy bowl of_ Special J_ cereal...

...before finally giving up and covering it liberally with hot fudge...

...and then munching away happily as she smiled across table reassuringly.

"Don't worry, Cupcake. Now that we know exactly what happened..._and why_...it's going to be _so_ easy to fix," she stated, very matter-of-factly...

...and, feeling almost reassured by her absolute confidence, I nodded...

...and actually found that I now had appetite enough to finish off a bowl of cereal myself.

Once we were done eating, I clutched at my heart in shock as Sam insisted on clearing the table; and, once she had stacked the breakfast dishes in the sink, she put her jacket on and helped me into mine; and then we picked up our bags and left the apartment...

...soon stepping out into the (uncharacteristically) bright April sunshine...

...and I confess that, as we walked purposefully toward the park, my eyes were darting nervously - and constantly - in all directions, because I was petrified that we might run into someone I knew...

...but, much to my relief, not only did that _not_ happen...but there weren't even many people out at all, despite the gorgeous weather.

Moments later, as we approached Meridian Park's main entrance, Sam turned to me and said decisively, "Don't worry...everything's going to be fine. Do you remember _exactly_ what you said and did last night...when you wished for me to turn back into myself?"

I pondered this for a long moment...wanting to be absolutely sure.

"Yes," I finally confirmed.

"That's good," she replied, flashing a relieved smile...

...and reaching out, she wrapped a comforting arm around my waist, and we began walking rapidly up the main path...

...toward the park's North-West corner...

...while she continued, "Okay, here's our strategy. After we've explained the whole situation - in detail - to Oswell, we'll just repeat all of what you said when you wished last night...every single thing...step by step and word for word..._both of us_...and then we'll...um..." she hesitated for a moment and then added, "...do you mind if we take a few minutes after we're finished and, you know, check out the rest of the carnival?"

"No, I guess not," I replied, realizing that it would be a relief to have something else to focus on beside what was currently (and very painfully) squished inside my pants.

Since Sam had mentioned before how badly she'd wanted to go to a circus, I wasn't surprised that she replied ecstatically, "Great! We'll have a fast look around...and then we'll go home...and we'll wait. Together. For as long as necessary." She paused before continuing, "Uh, how long was it between the time you made your wish...and when I woke you up this morning?"

I did some fast calculations.

"Umm, about ten hours."

With a curt nod, she reached over, grabbed my left wrist, and checked my watch.

"Okay, it's almost 11:45 now. So, if we figure on spending about 30 minutes talking to Mr. O. first, and discussing the situation with him, then we'll probably have finished making our wish by around 1 pm...so _then_, if it only took ten hours for me to change back, that means that by 11 tonight, at the latest, you'll be back to your old...to your...old..."

Just then, she stopped...

...verbally and physically and completely...

...and so did I...

...as we rounded the long bank of hedges which separated the old area of the park from the recently-developed section...

...and looked in the direction of the newly-improved expanse of grounds, and its six or seven brightly-colored tents...

...to find nothing but an empty, trash-filled lot...

...unpaved, overgrown, and neglected for as far as the eye could see.

"What...what the...uh...um...uh...hell?" Sam finished lamely...

...while I stood next to her...

...stunned and speechless...

...as I stared in complete disbelief.

It had been _right __here_...

...on neat and tidy, well-tended grounds...

…_less than twelve hours ago._

Where were the tents? I wondered, as my panic mounted quickly.

Where was the wrought-iron, arched entrance gate?

_Where was Mr. Oswell?_

As I failed profoundly in my attempt to answer any of these questions, my surroundings started to spin crazily, and I grabbed Sam's arm for support...breathing heavily and shaking violently...while asking, "This is where it w-was...this is the spot...isn't it?"

"Y-yes. Definitely," she replied...

...her face looking totally shocked...

...and slightly green as well.

"Then w-where is it?" I demanded.

"I don't know, Carls! I have absolutely no ide-"

Just then, at the (unexpected) sound of a male voice behind us, we spun around quickly...

...and saw two men, wearing blue chambray shirts with_ Seattle Department of Public Parks_ crests on them, and with their names embroidered below it, standing a short distance behind us.

The younger one, whose name was Craig, and who was holding a surveyor's tripod, smiled and said, "Hi. Could you girls step aside for a minute? We just need to take a few measurements."

Ignoring his request (my needs were _far_ greater), I remained rooted to the spot and asked, "Where is it?"

My question caught him off guard.

"Excuse me?" he answered.

"Where is it?" I repeated...

...and he stared back at me, obviously confused. "Where is...what?"

"The carnival," I answered, somewhat impatiently.

"There's no carnival in this park," he replied, "...I think you're mistaken."

"I'm not!" I countered (loudly). "It was right here...just yesterday!"

Craig turned to his partner, an older balding man named Andrew, who was standing several feet behind him and holding a clipboard.

"Andy, do you know anything about a carnival being here?"

When Andrew replied, he addressed his answer to me.

"No. There's no carnival here. I'm sure of it."

"It_ was _here! _Right here!_ I _saw_ it!" I practically yelled.

Andrew took a step forward.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but I'm sure you're mistaken."

Ignoring the vigorous way I was shaking my head in disagreement, he continued, My wife, Emily, is a member of the Seattle City Council, and she told me just last week that, due to budgetary cut-backs, there are no events of any kind scheduled for Meridian Park...for the entire year. In fact, this new area won't even be landscaped until the end of October. Craig and I are just drawing up the specs for that project now."

Despite his apparent knowledge and credibility on the subject of the park's future itinerary (or lack therof), my mind flatly refused to accept this new, disturbing information, and I repeated, "It has to be here! I just saw it yesterday! S-so where is it?"

Smiling at me with (surprisingly) fatherly patience, Andrew replied, "I promise you that, if there was_ any_ kind of carnival here, I would know about it. You must have this place confused with some other park."

Now exasperated (and well on my way to _desperate_), I jammed a hand into my nearly-empty bag, quickly grabbed the multi-colored brochure from it, and shoved it over toward him.

"The carnival was called Oswell's Oddities...and it _was _here!" I insisted. "Look, this is their brochure!"

Silently, he took it from my hand. Unfolding it, he carefully studied both sides, and then looked up at me in confusion.

"Uh, I'm sorry, but this is a Seattle Transit 505 bus schedule," he replied...

...and, highly annoyed at his total stupidity, I snatched it back...

...and looked down at it.

"No it's _**not**_ a freaking bus schedule! What are you talking ab-" I managed to get out...

...before my jaw dropped in complete astonishment...

...and I saw for myself that the colorful flyer I had just handed him...

...the same multi-colored brochure that both Sam and I had been looking at, both last night_ and_ this morning...

...now said, at the top, in the same, familiar bold lettering:

Seattle Transit Bus Schedule 505

Impossible!

There had been no other papers of any kind in my bag...for the past week at least...and so, this _had_ to be the same brochure!

What the fuck was going on?

I looked in bewilderment up at Sam...

...who stood, staring in shock...

...and seeing that I could expect no help of any kind from her, I shifted my gaze over to Andrew, who was (still) smiling back at me.

"See? You must be mistaken," he repeated kindly...

...but, unwilling to accept_ and_ unable to comprehend...

_...and beginning to seriously question my sanity..._

...I dropped the brochure, and immediately sprinted over to an area about fifteen feet away from where we all were standing..

...to the area where, only last night, Oswell's main tent had been...

...and began running back and forth over that patch of ground, repeatedly, looking frantically for any trace of it..._**anything**__..._tent peg holes, scuff marks in the dirt...

...but, as far as eye could see, there was nothing but nearly knee-high, untrampled grass; punctuated every couple of feet with empty rusting aluminum cans, discarded soda bottles, yellowing newspapers, and greasy fast food wrappers.

As I spun back toward Sam in both shock and disbelief, I heard several empty crack vials crunching under my feet, and Andrew asking her, "Uh...is your friend okay?"

"Yeah," I heard her reply quickly. "She's just a little...um...disappointed."

"Okay...uh, are you _sure_ she's alright?" he repeated, as I began tearing around the lot like a maniac...

...stumbling clumsily and deliriously over the uneven, weed-infested ground...

...desperate to find _any_ shred of evidence to prove that there _had_ been a carnival here the night before...

...and that I wasn't completely losing my fucking mind.

Finally, devastated and defeated, I found myself standing back where Oswell's main tent had originally been, and turned slowly in Sam's direction once again...

...just in time to hear her repeat to Andrew, "Don't worry, I'm sure Carly's okay. You're right...I guess it _was_ a mistake. We were probably at some other park."

This seemed to satisfy him.

"Oh, okay," he replied...

...just as Craig, who was now standing over by their truck and wrestling his tripod into it called, "Hey, Andy! It's 12 noon, so where do you want to have lunch...how about that Third World restaurant down on the corner...the one with all the missing dog posters outside?"

Andrew frowned. "Nah. Let's go to CJ's Deli. It's a ten minute drive, but the food's a lot better, and fortunately, they're usually all out of intestinal parasites," he replied...

...before turning back to face us.

"Good luck to you girls. I hope you find the right park," he said with a friendly smile...

...and then, he walked over to his truck and climbed inside it, next to Craig.

I watched in a daze as they turned left, and drove noisily off the edge of the lot and onto the street...

...and then, as the sound of its engine faded gradually, eventually becoming indistinguishable from the rest of the city's traffic, I began looking around me frantically...one last time...

...when a sudden, strong breeze kicked up...

...causing my hair to billow out wildly behind me...

...and making the tall, unkempt grass ripple across the entire, wide expanse of garbage strewn, urban-blighted ground.

The last thing I remember seeing is the early April sunlight, reflecting brightly off Sam's hair, before everything around me was blurred by a flood of hot, involuntary tears, as I stood there...

...completely bewildered...

...understanding nothing, except that all hope now gone forever.

Turning unsteadily to face Sam...

...I felt her pulling me close; and, burying my face against her shoulder...

...I broke down completely and cried in her arms; as we stood together, completely alone, in the middle of that desolate, squalid, wind-swept lot.


	6. Chapter 6

I barely remember the taxi ride home from the park...

...only that Sam held my hand so tightly that, by the time the cab pulled up in front of Bushwell Plaza, my fingers were numb.

I vaguely remember her wrapping a badly-shaking arm around my waist and half pushing/half pulling me into lobby of the building.

I vividly remember what happened next...

...or, rather, what _didn't_.

Sam usually answers Lewbert's invariably-loud, deranged screams with a snappy reply...something along the lines of, 'Shut up, Lew-ser...you'll never be half the man your mother was!', but today, she ignored him completely; instead looking at me with concern and compassion while maneuvering me swiftly and silently past his desk, as I stumbled toward the elevator.

Fortunately, we'd arrived back home around 1:30 in the afternoon, so there was no sign of Spencer when we entered the apartment.

Immediately, Sam shrugged her jacket off and flung it in the general direction of the sofa; then she removed mine and, seconds later, it was sailing across the room after hers.

And then she turned back to face me, but before she could say a word...

...I burst into tears again...expecting as I did for her to put her arms around me and move my head onto her shoulder, while reassuring me in a low, calming voice; but instead her hands suddenly and tightly grabbed my shoulders.

"No, Carls! Stop it!" she demanded, giving me a slight shake. "Look, I know how freaked out you are right now...but crying is _not_ going to help you! So, instead of falling apart, both of us are going to pull ourselves together, and then_ together _we're going to figure this out."

"H-h-h-how?" I asked, still bawling uncontrollably.

She answered, not with words, but by reaching down, taking hold of my right wrist, and leading me into the kitchen...and then over to the sink; where I watched, through wet, stinging eyes as she closed its drain and then turned the 'cold' faucet on all the way. Once the basin was nearly full, she opened the freezer and, to my astonishment, emptied every tray of ice cubes we had into it the water...and then, without missing a beat, she took a very deep breath...

...and slammed her face below its surface.

I spent the next minute or so watching her closely, so worried that I actually forgot to cry...

...because she didn't move in the slightest. Finally, alarmed for her safety, I grabbed onto the back of her T-shirt, ready to drag her up and prevent her from drowning (if she hadn't already)...

...just as she re-emerged on her own...with icy water cascading effusively from her bangs and sliding rapidly down her face, then dripping off her chin; as she flung her arms up over her head and howled, "Whooo! That really works! I feel totally clearheaded now!"

After executing a wild and exuberant (okay, spastic-free-for-all) dance around my kitchen, she wiped her face on her sleeve and turned to me.

"Your turn."

"W-what?" I sobbed, as I wiped my own streaming eyes. "No! There's no way I'm going to...going...to..." My voice trailed off and I stopped arguing the instant I saw the look of absolute determination on her face...which informed me of how very wrong I was...

...and, realizing that I was too way stressed to think logically_ anyway, _and that _her_ doing it had certainly seemed to both calm her down _and_ perk her up...

...I nodded slowly.

Immediately, she jumped to one side; and I hesitantly took her place in front of the sink; and then, grabbing onto its edges as tightly as I could, I gasped in as much air as my lungs could hold; and, refusing to allow myself time to think...I plunged my face into the water...

...feeling the fire in my eyes and on my cheeks turn instantly to hot ice.

Submersion for fifteen seconds was more than enough to clear my mind...and freeze my face...and the instant I yanked my head upwards, Sam put her hands on my shoulders and spun me around quickly...

...and a second later, my face was buried deep inside in the clean kitchen towel she was holding. After drying me off sufficiently, she moved the towel away and looked into my eyes while asking with obvious concern, "Well? How do you feel now?"

"Numb mostly," I admitted, blinking the last vestiges of water out of them.

She smiled.

"Well, better numbed down than freaked out."

Tossing the towel aside, she turned and leaned against the kitchen counter, before continuing, in a sincere - but failed – attempt to reassure me, "Now, you and I are going to figure this out. I don't know how long it's going to take...and I don't care...but we're going to figure it out...and then we're going to fix it..._together._ Do you understand me, Carls?"

Even though I understood her perfectly...

...I didn't believe her.

How could we possibly fix this? The shrunken head was gone...and was now _God Knows Where_...so how could we wish on it? And, if we couldn't wish on it, then how could there be any chance for me to change back into a girl? I snapped out of my thoughts when I noticed the way Sam was staring at me...

...and, realizing that she was expecting an answer, I nodded, despite my complete lack of conviction.

"Okay then," she said, suddenly sounding very business-like. "The first thing to do is to figure out why Oswell wasn't at the park this morning...and where he is now. Any theories?"

I didn't have to ponder that one. I already knew the answer.

"None," I replied.

She nodded.

"Okay, well...maybe we missed something or misunderstood him; so let's try to remember every single thing he said to us during the past two evenings...word for word."

Immediately, I closed my eyes and, without much difficulty, replayed both conversations in my head...slowly and deliberately...and then, suddenly and without warning, I was rewarded with a huge, unexpected revelation.

Gasping loudly, I reaching over, grabbed Sam's arm, and exclaimed, "Oh, my God! Don't you remember what he said when I asked when his show was going to open? It was, 'Well, let's see, today is Sunday...and we'll be ready on Tuesday...and we're going to be here-'...and that's when he was interrupted by his phone.

It was obvious from the expression on her face that she didn't get it.

"Uh...go on."

"Don't you see, Sam...he never said he was _opening_ on Tuesday...when he said that he'd be_ ready_ on Tuesday...he meant_ ready...to_ _leave!_"

She still didn't get it.

"Huh? How do you figure that?"

"He never actually said the words 'going to open'...did he?" I prodded.

"Well, no, but...I don't know, Carls," she replied, biting her lower lip in concentration. "I mean, he never said he was_ leaving _either...did he?"

"Well, he's not there now...so what else could he have possibly meant?" I asked...

...refusing to acknowledge that, from what we'd both just seen at the park...or rather, _hadn't_ seen...it seemed that he had never really been there at all.

"No," she admitted. "But maybe we misunderstood what he meant," she added...

...while _also_ refusing to acknowledge the reality of the unkempt, desolate, long-deserted lot we'd just been standing in.

"Of course we misunderstood him!" I agreed heartily...desperately grasping at straws.

With a pre-occupied nod, Sam shifted her gaze downward and twisted her lips to one side, which I knew - from past experience - was a sure sign that she was thinking deeply.

I waited as patiently as I could until, finally, she looked back up at me and stated, "Okay, then the next step is to research his carnival online. Maybe there's a list of dates and locations for his tour. If not, maybe we can get the address of his main headquarters, and then contact him that way."

This sounded like the best idea that either of us had come up with so far, so I nodded in agreement; and then watched in hopeful anticipation as Sam climbed up onto a bar stool at my kitchen counter, in front of the computer...

...and searched for 'Oswell's Oddities' on _Gaggle_...

...and then on _Yazoo_...

...and then on _Zing_...

...and then on _Not Bot_...

...and then on _Greg's List_...

...and then on _Hog Pile_...

...and then on _Zoo Tube_...

...and then on Winkia Search...

...and then on SNM...

...coming up with no matches whatsoever...again and again and again.

Absolutely nothing!

And, with each successive failure, I felt the two phantom hands of despair that had materialized in my chest at the park beginning to squeeze my heart and lungs in a cold, death-like grip...tighter and tighter and tighter...until, unable to take the mental and physical agony any longer...and wanting to be by myself before falling apart completely, I spun around, determined to run upstairs to my room...

...but Sam grabbed the back of my T-shirt.

"No, wait! Let's try again," she urged. "We'll look him up by name this time. _Everyone_ is online these days, so there has to be _something _about him on the Internet_,_" she declared...

...and acknowledging (to myself) how incredibly desperate the situation had now become, I stopped struggling, and stood next to her, in compliant silence and obedience; while she sat with her left arm wrapped tightly around my waist (to prevent me from running again while her focus was elsewhere)...

...and then she looked up 'Anton Oswell' on all of the above search engines...

...and then on _Twit her_...

...and then on _Farce Book_...

...and then on '_My Spaced_...

...again coming up with Absolutely Nothing...

...and, again, I tried to run.

Sliding off her bar stool with lightening speed, Sam successfully anticipated (and blocked) my attempted trajectory toward the staircase; and then, grabbing me firmly by my upper arms, she steered me over to the couch and sat me down.

Ignoring my rudely-worded objections to this, she stated, "We_ have_ to have missed something when he was talking to us; so let's go over the entire scenario once more...word for word."

"I...I don't know what else to say," I lied (extravagantly), while (barely) suppressing my rapidly-escalating urge to blurt out the rest of the story...which I now realized seemed to be my only remaining option.

"Well then, let's have another look at the brochure," she suggested, still oblivious to this.

Even though I didn't see how that could possibly help, I nodded in agreement, and she grabbed my handbag from the coffee table where I had dropped it; and, turning it upside down, she shook its few contents out onto her lap. Since the 505 bus schedule was the only piece of paper in the pile, she found it easily.

Picking it up, she looked from it to me and asked, "Why is this a bus schedule? When we were reading it earlier, it was an Oswell's Oddities brochure."

"_I know it was!"_ I answered testily, more than a little annoyed that she'd felt the need to state the obvious.

Sam nodded hastily in agreement.

"Okay, okay...there's no need to bit my head off...I'm only trying to be logi-"

Suddenly, she stopped speaking and looked down at my pile of stuff that she'd dumped into her lap.

"Your phone's vibrating," she announced, picking it up and holding it out to me.

"I don't want to talk to anyone!"

"Carls, don't you think you should answer? It might be important," she persisted, shaking it under my nose.

"I don't care!" I answered stubbornly (and rudely), crossing my arms and averting my eyes.

"Well let's at least see who it is," she urged...

...while I shook my head in protest.

She ignored me and looked down at the display window.

"Come on, what if it's Mr. Oswe...oh, it's not. Well, at least listen to the message."

Before I could yell at her to stop wasting valuable time with the fucking phone, and to focus on the _real issue_ I had on my hands...uh, in my pants...she raised it to her ear and listened; and then, with a wide smile, she held it up to my ear and replayed the message.

It was from Spencer.

"Hi, Kiddo!

I was just home but you weren't. Unfortunately, I'm not going to be able to make dinner for you and Sam this evening because Socko's uh...remember his new bed? The one he bought yesterday? Well, it, um...broke already. I'm not really sure how it hap-"

He was cut off by Socko's voice in the background, stating (loudly), "It must have been those friggin' termites..."

"Yeah!" Spencer agreed enthusiastically, recovering quickly. "Damn those Seattle termites! They uh...they work fast!

"Anyway, Socko and I are heading out to the furniture store right now and buying a new bed...one with a steel frame...and reinforced with iron bars across the bottom. I'm really sorry about dinner, so on the way over there I stopped at _The Amalfi Deli_ and left Italian subs and pasta salad in the fridge for you and Sam.

"I'm not sure what time I'll be home tomorrow...maybe not until really, really late; because I should probably...um...stick around here in case Socko has any more uh...bed-related issues. If you need anything, just leave a message.

"Byyyyyyyye!"

As I took the phone from her hand and dropped it absently onto the coffee table, Sam turned to me.

"Look, it's almost five o'clock," she announced, "so let's have an early dinner, and then we'll get right back to work on this...and then I'm_ sure_ we'll figure it out, because I always think better on a full stomach."

Even though I had absolutely no appetite, I realized that starving myself would only make me feel worse than I already did, and so, somehow, I managed to choke down a few bites of dinner...

...while Sam went to town on hers. After finishing her own sub (and the remaining 2/3 of mine), she polished off the last of the large carton of fusilli salad that Spencer had left for us; and then, together, we headed upstairs.

The instant I entered my room, thoroughly drained and depressed, I kicked my sneakers off and sat on the edge of my bed, staring straight ahead at Sam's stomach and chest, as she stood in front of me, staring at the floor while rocking back and forth on her heels, apparently deep in thought.

Neither of us spoke.

Finally, maybe ten minutes later, she snapped out of her introspection and bent forward; and, lifting first my left foot and then my right, she slowly yet deliberately pulled both of my socks off.

"What are you doing?" I asked, looking up at her in surprise.

"Cupcake, you're so stressed right now...I just thought that a nice foot massage would-" she began...

...but too distraught to listen to the rest, I swung my legs up onto the bed and rolled away from her, over onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow.

Seconds later, I felt her sit down next to me and her hands sliding under my chest and, just too spent to fight anymore, I put up no resistance as she rolled me onto my back again and then leaned over me, pushing my hair out of my face.

"Come on, Carls. Let's try again...one more time...word for word."

"I _can't_, Sam!" I protested, my mind now aching from our previous efforts. "I don't even remember my conversations with him anymore!"

"Yeah, right!" she scoffed, seeing right through my evasive (okay, _dishonest_) denial. "They don't call you 'Straight_** '**_A'Carly Shay' for nothing."

I rolled my eyes in exasperation.

"Okay, Fine! Whatever! It's _not _going to help! But if you _insis_-" I snapped loudly; but then, I stopped abruptly...

...suddenly aware of the horrible the way I was treating her. What the fuck is wrong with me? She's only trying to help, and I'm acting like an obnoxious asshole. Feeling incredibly guilty, I pressed my palms against my face - hard - as I tried to get a grip on my run-amuck emotions.

She sat next to me in silence, waiting patiently for me to pull myself back together; and when I did speak to her again, it was much more gently.

"Honey, I had no right to act that way toward you. I'm really, _really_ sor-"

With an understanding smile, she leaned over, and her lips cut me off...

...but, instead of lingering against them...the way I suddenly (and inexplicably) found myself wanting to...I pulled my head back and took a deep breath...

...and, as she had requested, continued my narration.

"Well, you know, I was in the tent...and I had the shrunken head in my hand while Mr. Oswell and I were talking."

"No, Carls," she interrupted. "Not like that. I want you to tell me_ exactly..._word-for-word."

"I already told you!" I whined. "Over and over!"

"I know, but...maybe we missed something," she added hopefully.

Well aware that I had _indeed_ left something out and, therefore, eager to end this conversation before it progressed any farther...into very dangerous territory, I shook my head vigorously, in an attempt to discourage her from continuing...

...but she was far from finished with me.

"Come on, Carls. There_ has_ to have been something he told you that we're overlooking... so let's pick up where we left off last time. You were holding the head and wished that I would turn back...and then what happened? You just walked out of the tent? Without even paying him?"

"I offered him money, but he wouldn't take it."

"No, Cupcake...exact words please."

I paused for a moment to recollect.

"Uh, he said, 'I did nothing to deserve payment. If your wish comes true, it was solely through your own efforts, not mine.'"

"So it really didn't have anything to do with him?" she said, more to herself than to me.

As I shook my head in confirmation, I shifted uncomfortably on the mattress...both from the incessant, almost unbearable pain that was being inflicted by my too-tight underpants...and from the horrible realization that she was now getting much too close to the truth...

...and because, since I'm absolutely no good at lying, she was going to find out...sooner or later...in one way or another.

When I offered no further comment, she continued, "That's it? Was there anything else? Did he say goodnight?"

"Yes."

"Okay. _Anything else_?" she persisted.

"I don't know!" I exclaimed, as the mounting pressure of being trapped caused my panic level to rise to nearly out-of-control levels.

"Come on," she urged, "try again to remember. I'm sure there's something els-"

"Maybe I don't want to remember anymore!" I yelled, now near tears...terrified that I wasn't going to be able to withhold from her much longer. "Leave me alone, Sam! Just get away from me!"

The instant I did, I regretted it.

I know I shouldn't have shouted at her.

Glancing over furtively, I clearly saw the hurt in her eyes; and, too ashamed to continue looking, I turned over onto my stomach again.

Long stretch of silence.

"Carls?" she said tentatively.

I shook my head.

"Please, Carls...I want to help you..._so badly_. Was there _anything_ else?" she asked, in a voice that mirrored everything that I myself was feeling at that moment...

...all of the pain and the fear and the helplessness...

...and I cracked.

"Yes!" I yelled. "Yes, there was! But I can't tell you the rest!"

"Why not?" she asked, as I buried my face deeply in the pillow.

I didn't answer, but I also didn't struggle as she turned me onto my back again, and leaned over...

...looking at me with an expression of such love and compassion that my heart suddenly felt like it had a harpoon through it.

"Because it's really, really bad!" I replied, now sobbing...

...and immediately, her loving and compassionate expression morphed into one of homicidal rage.

"What? Carls, what happened? Did that bastard try to grope you or something? If he did, I'll break every single fucking bone in both of his fucking hands!"

"N-No! Nothing like that!" I gasped, in an effort to correct her mistaken conclusion quickly, desperate to keep her from going on a rampage and unleashing considerable (and undeserved) violence on Mr. Oswell...

...while somehow forgetting that she had no way of finding him.

"Are you sure?" she demanded, still furious.

"Y-yes."

"Because, if he _did-_" she continued, in the most ominous tone I've ever heard from her.

"Sam, I promise you, that's not what happened!" I insisted...

...and her anger seemed to abate somewhat.

"What _did_ happen then?" She paused for a second and then, looking highly suspicious, she narrowed her eyes and added, "Are you _sure _he didn't put his hands on you?"

"Y-yes."

"Well then, what _did_ he do to you?" she demanded

"He...he said..." I began...

...and she suddenly looked enraged again.

"He said what? What did he say? 'Carly, you owe me a blow job'? And you refused? And now you have a dick? So help me God...I'll break every single bone in _**his**_ fucking dick!" she yelled, trying to roll off the bed.

I grabbed the front of her T-shirt with both hands.

"No! You can't! And besides," I pointed out, "dicks don't have bones."

"Oh, yes they do!" she insisted. "Where do you think we get the word _boner_?"

(I was way too distraught and distracted at the moment to even attempt to answer that one.)

"No! He didn't say anything like that. He...he said...something else," I replied...

...and suddenly, she buried her face in her hands and began breathing both deeply and raggedly; and, realizing that she was trying to regain her composure, I waited in silence while she somehow managed to master her rage. Finally, she raised her eyes to mine and said, in a weary voice which reluctantly betrayed her feelings of helplessness, "Carls, please tell me."

"I _can't_," I repeated.

"Why not?" she asked, laying a hand against my cheek.

I averted my eyes, lest they betray me.

"Sam, I'm sorry but...I just...can't."

She paused for a moment.

"Is...is it something that could help you change back?"

"Sort of-that isn't important," I lied, desperately trying to stall for time...time that, hopefully, would allow me to figure out a way to successfully dodge what now seemed inevitable.

"Yes it is important...it's _everything!_" she exclaimed.

"Sam, I...I-"

She leaned closer, and looking directly into my eyes she said, "Come on...what did you and I promise each other last year? No more secrets...remember?"

I nodded.

"Well then," she continued, "if you love me as much as you say you do-"

"I _do_ love you!" I shouted. "And that's why I can't tell you!"

She stared back at me, bewildered.

"Huh? What do you mean? Don't you want to change back to the way you were before?"

"You know I do!"

"Then what's the problem?"

"I can't tell you because it...it's _horrible!_"

A look of sudden comprehension crossed her face and she answered in a low, calm voice, "Now I understand, Cupcake...and everything's going to be okay. Surgery_ is_ horrible...but you'll get through it. I promise I'll help you."

"No, Sam it's worse than that! A lot worse! It's pointless to even_ have_ surgery because...afterward, it...it's going to grow right back!"

Her eyebrows shot up and her jaw dropped.

"Oswell told you that?"

"Y-yes. Yes, he did."

"But you just said...he told you something that would help you change back."

Kicking myself for having admitted that to her, I immediately averted my eyes...

...but she leaned across me and looked straight down into them.

"Carls, he told you something else...didn't he? Something that you're afraid to tell me now."

"It doesn't matter!" I insisted defensively. "We don't have the head to wish on anymore...and without that, it's not going to work!"

"How do you know?"

"It...it just _isn't!_" I repeated stubbornly...turning my gaze from her up to the ceiling.

Leaning over me, with her palms flat against the mattress and her head bowed, she stopped to ponder this for a long moment, and then, moving closer until her face was only a couple of inches from my own, she continued, "Well if it's not going to work, then you can just tell me anyw-"

"He said that _unselfish _wishes come true!" I blurted out...

...immediately regretting it...

...and she hovered over me in silence, for almost a full minute, processing this new revelation; before asking slowly and tentatively, "You mean I changed back to who I am because you...you wished something for _me,_ instead of for yourself?"

"Kind of," I admitted.

She frowned.

"What do you mean by_ 'kind of'_...did it happen that way or not?"

When I didn't answer, she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me up to her chest.

"Please, Carls...you know how much I love you! I want to help you _so badly_...please just tell me _how_," she begged...

...and, as she held me close, and those words of reassurance washed over me...

...I caved in completely...

...watching my vision blur from an abundance of tears as I confessed, "You changed back because I s-sacrificed my virginity for you...before I was r-ready! I let you be with me...willingly...and w-without a condom...even though I really didn't want to...and even though it hur-ur-urt!" I cried...

...and, finally comprehending the situation in its entirety, she pulled back and looked at me.

"You mean...because I was selfish...you were _unselfish? _And that's what caused me to change back?"

Incapable of saying more, I nodded...

...and, looking completely stunned, she froze...

...but less than a minute later, she leaned forward...

...and began kissing me...with more passion than I had ever felt before...or since...from her or from anyone else...

...and before I knew what was happening, she leaned up slightly; and, grabbing my wrists, she slid my hands up under her T-shirt; and, as her mouth opened against mine and my palms began voluntarily cupping the softness of her bare breasts, I gasped against her lips as I experienced - for the first time - a strong, unmistakeable stirring between my legs...

...but that was nothing compared to how distinctly ashamed I felt immediately after.

"Sam I can't! I can't do this!" I yelled, wrenching my head to one side; and then, before she could recover from her surprise, I slid agilely out from under her and rushed over to the opposite side of the room.

She jumped up and tore after me and, as I stopped, facing the far wall and cowering next to my dresser, she spun me around.

"Carls...you _can_," she insisted. "We have to! Besides, _I'm_ the one who has to be unselfish here...so your part is going to be easy."

"No it's not!" I gasped, horrified at her determination to go through with it. "I couldn't possibly do something like that to you! You haven't even stopped to put any thought into this! And, besides, you told me that you don't ever want to be with a g-g-uy!" I reminded her.

Staring at me critically, she looked me up and down and then replied, "Guy? I don't see a guy...all I see is the most beautiful girl God ever put on this earth...a girl who I love so much that every time I think about her, it makes my heart hurt...and who, every time she walks away, leaves me devastated and wanting desperately just to see...just to...see-" she stopped speaking...

...and then, before I could recover from her achingly-profound words and attempt to answer her, she had pushed me up against the wall and was kissing me again...

...and, despite my resolve, I somehow found myself kissing her back...

...and wanting never to stop. Less than a minute later, with my lips still against hers, I felt her hands fumbling at my waist, clumsily untying the drawstring of my sweatpants...and then, as she slipped right hand inside, and trailed her palm slowly down the outside of my underpants, and gently began to caress me through them...I felt another series of strong, unmistakeable stirrings in my penis...and then a very warm, tingling sensation, as it began to swell...

...and then to throb...keeping time with my rapidly-escalating heart beat...

...and, even though its greatly-increased size made it ache even worse since it was now being positively crushed inside my too-tight briefs, the way she was stimulating me felt so indescribably wonderful that I found it was now becoming very difficult to think clearly...

...and, at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to hand what little self-control I had left over to my penis, and let it do what it was demanding...

...until I looked up into her eyes...

_...Sam's eyes..._

...and, at that moment, I felt my erection wilt as quickly as it had begun, as I realized - to my horror - that I was even _thinking_ about having sex with her.

I couldn't...

_...we couldn't..._

...even though every part of my body was aching to...badly...

...so badly that the pain and conflict of it overwhelmed my mind with such consuming frustration that I grabbed her forearm...pulling her hand up and out of my pants...

...and then I turned my face to the wall, next to my dresser and, pressing my face against my own forearm, I started to bawl, feeling more helpless and distraught than I ever had in my life.

Several long minutes passed as I stood there, crying harder than I ever had before...

...confused and unfulfilled and inconsolable...

...expecting at any moment for Sam to wrap her arms around me from behind, while whispering words of love and reassurance...but there was absolutely nothing...nothing but silence, continually interrupted by my shaking sobs, while I stood there alone, heart-broken, not understanding_ why _she was allowing me to suffer this way.

Finally, I felt her hand on my shoulder...turning me around...and aware of how awful I must look from crying so hard, I immediately dropped my gaze to the floor...

...staring in disbelief at what I saw lying near her feet:

It was her white, _Beach Bum_-logo T-shirt...

...and it was lying right next to her baggy, gray twill shorts...

...which were partially hidden under her ice blue, penguin-motif boxers.

And then, despite myself, I rapidly blinked the tears out of my eyes and lifted them...

...to see her standing in front of me, wearing absolutely nothing...

...except for a pair of my white silk panties.

And then, the room spun, and the floor tilted...

...as every single drop of blood in my head...and probably the rest of my entire body rushed into my penis...

...turning it rock hard and twice its normal size, and I moaned loudly as it strained in agony against the inside of my underpants...

...demanding release.

Barely had my dazed mind registered this, when Sam took two steps forward, and threw her arms around my neck...

...and then, jumping up, she wrapped her legs around my waist, holding onto me tightly...

...and, without thinking, my hands automatically slid under her butt for support. For a split second, I was scared I'd drop her because, even though Sam is shorter than I am, she's very solidly built...so imagine my astonishment when I found myself holding her up effortlessly.

To this day, I'm not sure if it was from adrenaline or testosterone...or both...but the feeling of white silk, warm from her body, pressing against my palms destroyed every last shred of my resolve, and I carried her swiftly (and easily) over to the bed...

...stopping suddenly...

...and staring in surprise at the dark blue, twice-folded towel that I saw lying on top of the mattress...

...as I realized that, while I had been crying, she had been in the bathroom.

For a moment, I continued to lean over it, with her in my arms...caught in agonizing limbo between two extremes...with absolutely no idea what to do about it since my conflicted, confused brain failed to support me in any way...

...but then, I had a rare, blissful moment of clarity and, turning my back to the bed, I set Sam down on the floor.

On her feet.

Slowly, she lifted her eyes to mine, but I had no chance to decipher what I saw in them because, at that moment...without warning and without a word...she raised her hands to my chest...

...and shoved me onto the bed; and then, leaning directly over me, she grabbed both of my shoulders and pushed me down until I was lying on my back...

...and, before I could recover sufficiently from the shock and try to resist, she was dragging my T-shirt up off me...

...and then she was dragging my sweatpants _down_ off me...

...and, an instant later, she had climbed on top of me...

...and as the gentle swell of her silk-covered vulva brushed against the naked flesh of my stomach, before pressing against me as she sat down...

...a thrill very like electrocution shot through me...

...and seeing this, she immediately flung herself forward and down; and, pinning my shoulders, she began kissing me again.

Paralyzed stiff (in more ways than one) I wrenched my head to one side and, as her lips flew to my neck...

...I suddenly found the ability to shout, "Sam stop it!"

She ignored me.

Completely.

Turning my face back toward hers with one hand, she resumed kissing me, while shifting her hips aside...

...and before I knew what was happening, her left hand had crept down between my legs, and as soon as I felt it touch the outside of my underpants and begin rubbing me through them...

...I suddenly became very aware that my penis has a mind of its own. What she was doing to both ends of my body felt so incredible that my brain could barely function...except to acknowledge the pain I felt as my throbbing, badly-swollen penis, now hell-bent on escape, tried its hardest to force its way straight through my underpants. But I also knew that, as much as I wanted to, there was absolutely nothing I could do to relieve the insanely-unbearable pressure.

I love Sam too much.

And so, I lay there in unbearable frustration, as I felt the pressure of an abundance of semen beginning to well up deep inside me...

...building steadily and painfully in intensity as her lips continued moving against mine...

...and, even though I was trying desperately to divert my mind from what was happening...

..._what she was __making__ happen by the way she was kissing and touching me..._

...it was impossible, and so I closed my eyes and threw my arms around her neck, holding onto her tightly as I began thrusting my hips forward, forcing my penis against her palm over and over, as I focused on trying to orgasm, right here and right now; determined to ejaculate in my underpants rather than inside her, to avoid subjecting her the same horrible pain and fear that I'd suffered for her sake only last night.

She saw what I was trying to do.

"No, Carls...I need you to hold back!" she exclaimed, moving her lips away from mine; and, moving her hand away from my crotch, she shifted her eyes downward...

...and, seeing the concerned expression on her face as she did, I looked down also, following her line of vision...

...to see her staring at the two-inch wide, very wet stain on the front of my briefs, as we both realized - at the same time – that, due to my total lack of experience at controlling an erection, I was leaking a lot of pre-cum...

...too much in fact...

...and, fearing that I was going to orgasm too soon, she immediately tried to pull my underwear down, but I blocked her hands.

"No! I can't...I _won't_ put you through that!" I protested.

She ignored me...and, moving her left hand moved downward, she began caressing my bulge through them once again...

...while an indescribable electric sensation ran, non-stop, through my entire pelvic region...and soon getting very close to orgasm again, I failed to anticipate (and to stifle) a loud, involuntary moan...

...and realizing what that meant, she stopped caressing me abruptly; and, after probing my bulge gently with her fingertips, she managed to locate the shaft of my penis and, wrapping her hand around it, she squeezed it tightly...which actually caused the pulsating feeling in the nerve endings of its head intensify...as my heart rate went way, way up.

Realizing that I wasn't going to able to last much longer, she rolled me over rapidly, and then took my place, lying on her back...

...on top of the folded towel. Taking my right hand in both of her own, she kissed it, and then did the one thing that I'd valiantly managed to resist doing with it up until now: She slid it down between her legs...

...and pressed my fingers firmly against the outside of her distressingly-dry panties...

...and then her now-trembling hand slipped between my own legs again, but farther down this time; and, after she had used it to spread my thighs apart, she began to gently caress my testicles through my briefs...

...as I, in my ever-escalating arousal, extended my index finger and began tracing it up and down, pressing it forward slightly...

...and listening to her gasp as it sank, between the outer lips of her vulva, pushing her panties inside with it...

...and, before I knew what I was doing, I found myself rolling us both over...

...and lying on top of her, pressing my cotton-covered crotch directly against her silk-covered one...

...and it scared the hell out of me; but, seconds later, she was wrapping her arms around my neck and whispering in my ear.

"It's okay. Come on, let's just get it over with."

"Oh God, Sam...I remember what last night was like...I don't w-want to hurt you!" I gasped.

She lifted her eyes to mine and said again, in a calm, resigned voice, "Just do what you have to do."

"Sam, I'm not wearing a condom!"

"Shh," she whispered. "I love you."

"But-" I began...

...and she pressed her mouth over mine, silencing me. And as much as I hated to acknowledge it, I knew that she was right...that, if there was any hope at all for me, then I _had_ to be with her...but I also knew that there was no way I could force myself onto - or into – her; and so, I decided to 'do the right thing'...

...and while looking at her lying under me...

...wearing nothing but a pair of white silk panties...

...and, with my penis screaming for release, in every sense of the word...

...I gently pushed her legs as far apart as possible...

...and then, pressing my still-clothed genitals firmly onto hers, I began slowly rubbing my bulge against her vulva...absolutely aching to be inside her...but determined, once again, to ejaculate in my underpants instead.

She wouldn't let me.

"No, Carls!" she exclaimed, attempting (and failing) to slide her hands under my chest and push my body away from her own.

Resisting, I wrapped my arms around her back and continued rubbing against her, forcing my mind to stay focused on orgasming...as quickly as I could.

"Sam, let's just do it this way...you won't even have to take your panties off!"

"I w-want you to...you_ need_ to feel a lot better than that," she reminded me.

"It's not necessary," I gasped, trying to control my breathing enough to answer her.

"It is! I_ need_ to _sacrifice_ for you, Carls!"

"You can't...I won't let you!" I argued, nearly sobbing from my efforts to continue pleasuring myself against her _and_ from the agonizing conflict that was tormenting every part of my body and mind...

...as I was forced to admit to myself how badly I didn't want to be inside her...

..._and _how badly I did.

"You sacrificed for me...last night," she reminded me...

...and I realized that I hadn't yet _reminded her_ of something.

Stilling my hips, I somehow got my wits about me again and pointed out, "Sam, before you got your uh...third leg, you only had your period for two days instead of five, remember?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, now that you're a girl again, did your period come back? Do you have it right now?"

"No, Carls, I don't," she admitted, "...but what does that have to do with-"

"Don't you see?" I answered. "Since it_ didn't come back_, then how do you know that we're safe? How do you know where in your cycle you are right now?"

"I don't care-"

"What if you're ovulating..._right now?_" I demanded...

...as the thought of that possibility caused my erection to wilt (rapidly) by about 75%.

"I _still _don't ca-" she began, but then stopped, as she began to comprehend the full magnitude of the situation.

"Sam you told me you don't ever want kids," I reminded her.

"I don't..." she admitted, before blurting out, "...but I want you back the way you were! Not for my sake but for yours! Don't you see, Carls...there's absolutely no other way! What else could I possibly do for you that's more of a sacrifice than this?"

I didn't bother trying to find an answer, because I knew that she was right...there was no other way...but I also knew that I couldn't take her virginity _and_ force her to have a child she didn't want.

"Look," I offered, suddenly inspired, "I'll pull out!"

"You won't."

"I have to! Don't you realize what a risk we're taking?" I asked incredulously.

"It's not a risk," she stated flatly.

"It is!"

"It's not," she persisted.

"It _is!_" I shouted, "what if you get-"

"That's exactly the point, Carls...I want you to..." she paused for a nearly a minute before continuing, more quietly this time, "I want you to...to...to _try to knock me up..._as hard as you can."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Y-you want me to _try_ to get you-"

"Yes, Carls...as hard as you can," she replied with utmost sincerity...

...even as her voice betrayed her fears.

Fighting the urge to jump up and flee the state, I yelled, "Sam, have you lost your mind?"

"No," she replied. "Carls...don't you understand that the more selfish you are, the more unselfish I can be...and that it's the _only_ chance we're going to have to-"

"What? Don't you realize what that means? What it _could_ mean...for both of us...for the rest of our lives!"

"Do you want to change back?" she demanded.

"You_ know_ I do! But that doesn't mean I want to-"

"It's not about you wanting to, Carls...it's about you _having_ to...and this is going to happen...right now," she announced...

...in a tone voice that made it very clear that it was now pointless for me to argue with her anymore...

...and, realizing that her mind was made up, and that nothing I could say or do was going to change it, I reluctantly gave in; but, still determined to put her first I added, "I'm going to be so careful not to hurt y-"

"I'm going to struggle," she informed me...

...and, completely shocked at this revelation, I assured her, "The instant you do, I'll stop."

"No. You won't."

"Sam, I swear I will!" I assured her. "Please,_ please_ believe me! If you even start to_,_ I want you to know that I _wil-_"

"No, you won't...because I won't let you," she answered...

...and, freaking out completely at the mere thought of what she was suggesting, I shouted, "There's no way I'm going to force myself on you if you're struggling! That's crazy.._.that's rape!_"

She looked into my eyes and shook her head, while stating, "I'll only be struggling because I have to...and it's your job to be selfish anyway and to...to finish...completely."

"NO!" I yelled, aghast.

"Carls, what other chance do we have for you to change back?" she concluded...

...and I started to cry.

Hard.

"I w-won't do that to you!"

"You have to."

"No! There's no way!" I sobbed.

"Carls, look at me," she said quietly.

"I can't!" I wailed...

...but she lifted my eyes to hers anyway and replied, "You have to make a decision...and you have to make it right now. One night of your life being a selfish jerk...or every night of the rest of your life with a penis."

I shook my head violently.

"No! Don't make me decide something like th-"

"Then I'll decide for you," she answered with finality...

...and, without allowing me to answer, she opened her legs wider...and, grabbing my wrist, she lowered my hand between them and pressed it up against her...

...and seconds later, her hand slid up between my own thighs...and, as I felt the gentle swell of her vulva against my fingers, and as her palm began to fondle my penis through my underwear again...

...my erection quickly inflated...

...and my resolve quickly wilted...

...and the last few vestiges of my ability to think logically quickly departed...because what she was doing to me felt so unbelievably wonderful.

Less than a minute later, she was sliding her hand - with difficulty - inside my briefs, and doing things with it that caused me to feel things I'd never dreamed were possible; and in my delirium, I found myself rolling over and pulling her panties down. I had them as far as her knees when she reached down with her free hand and grabbed one of mine.

"I want you to promise me that you'll try to...to knock me up. As hard as you can," she repeated...

...and the shock of this reminder caused my reeling brain to skid to a halt, affording me a rare moment of clarity; and I shouted, "No! I won't! And stop calling it that! You've told me more than once that you don't want kids!"

"And you told _me_ more than once that you don't want a penis," she reminded me. "Come on, Carls...decide."

And, deciding quickly, I began to climb off her...

...and, rejecting my decision, she reached up with both hands, dragged me back down onto her, and rolled me over. Pinning me with her forearm against my chest, she managed to yank my underpants down and then off my body...

...resulting in a rapturous sensation of relief, as my tortured penis_ finally_ escaped its confinement...

...which was replaced almost immediately by pangs of overwhelming apprehension when, seconds later, Sam began kissing her way down my stomach...slowly and lingeringly...gradually moving lower and lower...until she reached my genitals...

...and we both lay there, in petrified silence, for nearly a minute...

...while she hesitated...

...before finally - and fearfully - lowering her face toward the tops of my thighs...

...and, as she began slowly running her tongue around the badly-swollen, incredibly sensitive head of my massive, throbbing penis...

...my entire body began shaking violently at the resulting, incredible rush of arousal.

Seconds later, I found her lying under me, where I had hastily moved her...

...and I found myself on my knees, straddling her hips, as I grabbed my bottle of almond-scented moisturizer from my nightstand...

...and began squirting it...generously and sloppily...along the entire length of my penis's shaft, with badly-shaking hands; and then, as I stared down in horror at the way it was dripping steadily off the tip of its head, directly onto her taut, flat stomach...

...and collecting there like a wide, white, slippery puddle of semen...

...I realized what was about to happen...

_...I realized the full horror of what I was about to do to her..._

...but Sam reached up and took both of my hands in her own, and then looked directly into my eyes.

"I know it's going to hurt."

"Sam, I wish it didn't h-have to b-be this way! I wish I didn't have to take your virginity like this!" I sobbed. "The last thing I want is to-"

"Shh," She replied. "Just do what you have to do."

And, somehow feeling both reluctance and eagerness, I pulled her panties the rest of the way off; and then, carefully spread her legs wide apart, I knelt between them, and slid a hand under each of her knees...pulling them upward...

...and then I lowered myself between her thighs as far as I could and, after a bit of fumbling, I managed to position the swollen tip of my badly-engorged penis directly against the entrance to her vagina.

Filled equally with arousal and self-loathing, I leaned down and looked into her face. Her eyes were closed, but it was easy to see that she was terrified.

"If I do it all at once, it'll be over faster," I said softly.

She nodded shakily...

...and moving my hands from under her knees to under her shoulders, I grabbed onto her firmly...

...praying that she wouldn't suffer...not as I had the night before...

...but still, my mind exploded with self-hatred at the loud, high-pitched cry I heard from her when, leaning my full weight against her, I forced my way inside her vagina...

...penetrating her deeply...

...which immediately resulted in a series of additional, drawn-out sobs as her hymen tore painfully...

...and which made me all the more determined to finish quickly. And so, I closed my eyes and lay there without moving, focusing (guiltily) on how unbelievably good it felt to be inside her...trying my hardest to orgasm that way, without subjecting her to any additional pain.

Immediately realizing what I was trying to do, she grabbed my hips...

...and I opened my eyes to hers.

"Carls! Don't you dare!" she half gasped, half sobbed.

"I can't put you through-" I began...

...but stopped abruptly when she wrapped her legs around me tightly...moaning from the pain she felt between them as she did..

_...pain that was all my fault..._

...and then, to my complete astonishment, despite the agony she was in, she began pushing her hips upward and toward mine, over and over...causing me to penetrate her vagina...deeply and repeatedly...

...and the sensation of the walls of her vagina rubbing wetly yet tightly against the entire length of my penis felt so utterly amazing...

...that I hated myself for enjoying it so much; and so, I tried to pull out...

...but, a second later, I felt her legs tighten around my torso.

"No! You can't!" she insisted.

"I have to! I'm hurting you!" I yelled, trying to once again...but before I could, she reached up and, pulling me even closer, she threw her arms around my shoulders, holding onto it every bit as tightly as her legs were wrapped around my lower back. Desperate to stop her, I lay my full body weight on top of her chest, causing her hips to still.

She shook her head and demanded, "Listen to me! I want you to promise me that you'll do what I told you to..._all of it_."

"I can't!" I sobbed, shifting on top of her as I attempted once again to get up...

...which caused my penis to rub against the inside of her damaged vagina, making her cry out in pain, but she bit it back as best she could and answered, "It's only going to have to happen once...if you'll just do everythin-"

"You don't know that! You can't know that...or if this is even going to work at all!" I wailed, while trying to think logically _and_ to control my erection at the same time...

...one of the most difficult things in the world to do.

"Got a better idea?"

"N-no," I admitted.

"Come on," she urged. "Just this one time."

I knew how badly I was hurting her - both physically and emotionally - and I hated it...

...but I knew that, if there was any hope of us getting my wish, that she had to be incredibly unselfish for me...which meant that _I_ had to be incredibly selfish with her...

...and so, even though I found the idea to be absolutely repugnant, I gave myself over to it...

...totally...

...and reluctantly turning my attention completely away from her, and focusing only on how wet and wonderful it felt to be inside her body, I screwed up every last bit of resolve that I could...and then I began thrusting my penis into her...

...rapidly and deeply...

...again and again...

...as hard as I could...

...but, as incredible as it felt, and despite doing my best to focus only on my own pleasure, all I could think about is how much I hated what I was doing to her...

...because my selfish thoughts were now being interrupted repeatedly by her anguished sobbing next to my ear...

...which made me hate myself even more for enjoying how good it felt to be inside her...

...so good that, deep down, I knew a part of me never wanted it to end...

...yet somehow managing to keep that part of me somewhat under control, I swore to myself to not drag it out as I'd made her do last night...which meant that there was only one way to finish quickly...and so, once again, I gave myself over - fully and selfishly - to my own pleasure...hoping that it would cause me to orgasm sooner...

...and, when I realized that I seemed to be getting close, I closed my eyes, and focused hard on how badly I wanted to ejaculate...

...but she immediately realized what I was trying to do, and grabbed onto the sides of my torso with both hands, immobilizing me.

"Carls, no" she gasped. "Not yet! You have to hold back...for as long as you can!"

"I can't! I can't do that to you!"

"You can and you will!" she answered, blinking away the tears of pain that were welling up steadily in her eyes.

"_I can't!_" I repeated.

"For fuck's sake Carls, don't argue with me! Just do it!"

"But-"

Without a word, she moved her right hand off my left side and, reaching under me, she grabbed onto the base of my penis, which was protruding from her body...

...hard.

"Ow, Sam! Let go!" I demanded. "You're hur-"

"Shut up for a second!" she answered, in a voice that reluctantly betrayed how much pain she was feeling. "Do you want all of this to have been for nothing?"

I couldn't answer...

...I was too busy trying not to cry and/or orgasm.

"You need to be selfish!" she demanded. "So think only about yourself...just this once. Try to make me get-" her voice trailed off...

...but her hand took over, and began to pump my penis...vigorously...

...which only increased my arousal...

...and decreased my resolve...

...and, despite her admonition that I think only about myself, I suddenly realized that it was now becoming incredibly difficult to think at all...about anything. But the one thing I _did _comprehend was that I couldn't hold back much longer. I had to decide..._right now..._

...and, even though it killed me to do so...I admitted to myself that Sam was right...

...that this was the only chance I had. And so, consumed with self-loathing, I did the most selfish thing of my entire life...

...to a girl who didn't ever want to have children.

I tried to make her.

Without further protest or hesitation, I reached down and unwrapped her fingers from the exposed base of my penis...

...and, giving myself over to selfish gratification, I began thrusting into her - deeply and repeatedly – doing my best to ignore her low, drawn-out sobs of pain, until I was getting so close to release that holding back was becoming difficult...

...and, without further hesitation, I decisively penetrated her vagina as far as I possibly could, until I felt the tip of my penis pressing directly against the slightly-indented entrance to her cervix...

...and then, blinking back the tears that were forming in my own eyes, I looked deeply into hers.

I had made my decision.

And she knew what it was.

And I had never seen her look so terrified. But still, she nodded slowly...

...and then, as promised, she began to struggle...

...hard...

...and, hating myself more than I ever thought was possible, I grabbed onto her hips as she twisted under me...

...forcing her to lie still...

...while pressing my the tip of my penis against her the opening to her cervix as tightly as I could...

...and in that instant - to my immense relief - she stopped struggling...

...and as she did, I closed my eyes...

...and stopped struggling myself...

...both physically and emotionally...

...and then, with a moan...

...and without a condom...

...I let go...

...immediately straining all my pelvic muscles forward, as hard as I could...

...causing an explosion of semen to gush out of me...and, from the slight resistance that it met...yet the near absence of liquid that should have been pooling around the end of my penis, but wasn't...

...I realized that I was forcing most of it way past her cervix...

...and into her uterus...

...while I flooded deep inside her; praying as I did that she would conceive our child inside this beautiful body of hers...

...while fully aware of how much I loved the slippery, incredible, earth-shattering release of orgasm...

...my first orgasm with her...which was over far too quickly...

...and about thirty seconds later, completely drained, in every sense of the word, I fell down on top of her...

...immediately hating myself for what I had just done...

...and for what I had just been thinking...even though my fervent prayers were only the result of my reluctant determination to obey her instructions that I 'try as hard as I could'.

My guilt trip was interrupted when I heard her sniff near my ear...

...and, still deep inside her, I whispered, with my voice shaking, "I'm so sorry! I love you...so much! I...wanted to make you...to get you...I tried really hard to-"

"I know you did," she murmured, raising her head off the pillow and pressing her damp cheek against my shoulder.

"But...you said you don't want to have children," I reminded her.

"That's right. I don't."

"Then...why didn't you try harder to stop me?" I asked...even though I already knew the answer.

"Because I knew exactly how you felt in that moment...and that I had no right to take it away from you...because I knew that you _had_ to be selfish," she answered...

...and, losing it completely, I sobbed, "I swear I'll n-never do anything l-like this to you again! Even if I never change b-back!"

"I know you won't," she answered simply, but this remark barely registered in my brain...which was suddenly engulfed with a new sensation...

...one of profound euphoria and relaxation; and, wanting nothing more at that moment than to fall asleep...I pulled out of her vagina...

...listening to her gasp as I did...

...which was drowned out by my own, much louder gasp as I saw, by the dim light of my table lamp, that the entire length of my penis was liberally smeared with her blood and, to a lesser degree, with my cum.

Fortunately, I made it to the bathroom before she saw me break down in tears.

Less than five minutes later, I was listening to_ her_ biting back sobs as I dabbed between her legs with a warm, wet cloth; and, once I had finished, and she was wearing a pad and a clean pair of my panties, I climbed into bed with her...wearing a pair of her boxers (after all I had just been through, I didn't need the added agony of tight underwear for the rest of the night). Instead, I needed to focus on what to say next. After all, there were so many things that needed to be said...

...so many things that I wanted to tell her.

Lying my head next to hers on the pillow, I reached down and took her left hand in my right one, and looked into her still-damp and pain-filled eyes.

"Sam, I just want you to know that, no matter what, I'm going to st-" I began...

...but that's as far as I got...

...because, at that moment, I fell asleep mid-sentence.


	7. Chapter 7

When I awoke, I found myself lying on my back, with Sam's body pressed up against mine, and her left arm flung across my chest. Tentatively and reluctantly, I opened one eye a crack...

...and was immediately blinded by the effusion of sunlight which was pouring into my bedroom. Squinting, I turned my face toward the alarm clock on my nightstand, blinking rapidly, until finally I was able to read the display.

9:38.

Turning my head to the left for the first time, I realized that, instead of Sam sleeping soundly next to me...

...she was looking at me...anxiously...but I had no idea how long she'd been lying there, wide awake...

...waiting.

"Carls?" she asked, her trembling voice brimming with anxiety...

...and, without her elaborating, I know exactly what she was asking...

...and, without hesitating, I shook my head.

"No? No what? It's not there anymore? It's not gone?" she asked, her questions coming in rapid-fire succession...and in an almost frantic tone.

"I...don't know," I admitted...

...and her eyebrows shot up.

"What do you mean you 'don't know'...can't you _feel _it?"

"Sam, I...I'm...too afraid to l-look!" I declared...

...and with an understanding nod, she sat up at once and began pulling the covers off me...

...and then I lay there, heart hammering, as she stared, silently and intently, at my crotch area...

...because I was much too afraid to look myself...

...but even more afraid of what her answer might be.

Finally, she spoke.

"Well, I don't see anything...there's no bulge in the front of your box-" suddenly, she stopped speaking and, reaching down with both hands, she placed them on my knees...

...and gently spread my legs apart...

...and then, leaning forward, she looked more closely...

...still without speaking.

"Oh, God, Sam! Is it still there? _Tell me!_" I gasped, after nearly a minute's complete silence...during which I was completely unable to read the expression on her face...

...only that she looked dead serious.

"It...doesn't seem to be," she answered...

...but doubtfully.

"_What? _Sam! What if it _still_ _is_?" I demanded...

...and as her right hand moved slowly from my left knee to up between my thighs, I held my breath...

...and so did she...

...and then, after it had hovered over me for a long moment, she lowered it and gently placed her palm flat against me...

...directly on my crotch...

...hesitating for a moment...

...and then squeezing ever-so-gently.

"I...don't feel anything," she soon announced, now sounding fairly convinced...

...even though I still wasn't.

"How do you know _for sure?_" I asked, still terrified.

"Well I..." she began, and then frowned and continued, "...lift your hips."

Trembling, I did as she directed; and, seconds later, she'd pulled my blue and white plaid boxers down to my knees...

...and, after staring, open-mouthed, for an excruciatingly long moment, she answered, sounding highly relieved, "It's gone."

But _still,_ I wasn't completely convinced.

"Are you absolutely _sure, _Sam? How do you know you're not...uh, overlooking anything?"

Shaking her head at my unrelenting insecurity, she answered, not with words, but with an indulgent smile...

...as she pressed two fingers against my vagina's outer lips...

...and gently spread them apart...and then leaned in...

...and smiled even wider.

"Cupcake, you're 100% girl...see?" she replied, gently inserting her index finger just inside the lips of my vulva, and slowly tracing it up and down...

...causing a series of incredibly-intense tremors...of both arousal and relief...to erupt deep within my core, and then ripple, outwardly and forcefully, through my entire body.

"See?" she repeated, "now do you believe m-oomph!" she stopped speaking abruptly...

...as, sitting up, I threw my arms around her mid-section and hugged her as hard as I could, knocking the breath completely out of her...

...but then I stopped short...feeling incredibly ashamed...as I remembered that I was being unbelievably selfish...

...because _she's _the one who needed attention at the moment...

...badly.

Releasing her from my vice-like embrace, I said, "Come here," while carefully rolling her onto her back...

...and then reaching over to the nightstand for my tube of Aloe Vera gel.

"Carls, I-" she began...

...but I cut her off.

"Shh...I know you're hurting, Honey, so just let me take care of you," I said softly, as I reached to her hips and pulled her panties down...

...and then stared in absolute disbelief...

...at her pad...which was completely dry.

"Sam, did you just...change this?" I asked slowly.

"No," she replied, looking down, "Why do you ask-W_hat The...!_" she exclaimed, staring also.

"Then..._how?_" I demanded.

"No idea!" she answered, sounding every bit as mystified as I was.

"But...I saw how badly you were bleeding last night...are you...sore?"

"No...not at all. I don't really feel anything down there," she replied as I pulled her panties back up.

Too confused to figure out what to ask next, I soon gave up trying and laid my head on her chest instead, sighing as her arms went around me. However, less than a minute later, I realized (reluctantly) that I couldn't linger there.

My bladder wouldn't let me.

"I'll be right back," I announced, untangling myself from her embrace, and then heading quickly to the bathroom.

Five minutes later, on my way back, I passed her in the hallway...with an unmistakeable 'Gotta Pee' expression on her own face...as she hurried by me...

...and toward relief.

Less than ten minutes later, as she walked back into the bedroom, she leaned against the doorjamb and stared in amusement as I...prompted by the familiar sound of the garbage truck coming up the street...was busily tearing through both the dresser and the hamper, collecting all six pairs of men's briefs that I'd bought two days ago, and throwing them into my wastebasket.

"Cupcake, you've read my mind; I don't ever want to see those hideous things again!" she remarked, tossing her panties into the hamper, and then pulling on a pair of white boxers and a pair of gray cargo shorts.

"Don't worry, you won't," I replied, removing the trash bag from the basket and then tying its top. Setting it down for a moment, I hastily ditched my boxers and put on a clean pair of panties; and then pulled on a T-shirt, sweatpants, and sneakers...which I didn't bother to tie. Grabbing the bag once again, I reminded her with a smile, "Breakfast is on the dresser," as I left the room.

Sitting on the edge of my bed and dragging a T-shirt over her head, she nodded slowly in acknowledgment, but judging by the expression on her face, her mind seemed to be elsewhere.

Less than five minutes later, as I rushed out of Bushwell Plaza's First Floor Service Entrance, the garbage truck was just pulling away from the curb; so I tossed the bag into the nearest empty trash can and then hurried back into the building, and to my highly-anticipated breakfast of Easter candy, hoping as I did that Sam had actually saved me some...

...but as soon as I entered the bedroom, I saw that, instead of hovering over my dresser enthusiastically stuffing her face, she was sitting all the way across the room...

...curled up in my window seat, her back against the wall...

...with her arms around her shins...

...and her forehead on her knees...

...and at that moment, I realized that the full magnitude of what we'd done for the past two nights...and all of its very possible, terrifying, future implications...had finally hit her...

...hard.

Crossing the room slowly, I sat down next to her on the edge of the seat.

"Sam?"

I waited for nearly a minute, but she didn't look up or acknowledge me in any way whatsoever; so leaning over, I wrapped my arms around her upper back and pulled her body as close to mine as I could.

As I did, she lifted her head a few inches and half spoke-half sobbed, "Carls, I'm s-so scared!"

And despite my best intentions to be the strong one here...

...and to reassure her...

...and to comfort her...

...I burst out crying anyway.

"Sam! I'm so sorry! I'm _so sorry _for what I did to you...and also for what...what I _might_ have done to you!"

At these words, her arms flew from her legs to up around my neck, and for the next five minutes or so, nothing could be heard but the sounds of both of us bawling...loudly...before, finally, I managed to utter, "Sam...no matter what h-happens, I'm not _ever_ g-going to l-leave y-"

"Oh, God, what if I'm...wh-what if _w-we're_-Oh, God!" she interrupted...

...and something about the devastated way she said it touched me so deeply and so profoundly that, somehow, I managed to get a grip on myself and stop crying. Yanking the tail of my T-shirt upwards, I hastily wiped my eyes with it, and then, wrapping my arms back around Sam, I answered, "Shh...let's try not think about it _at all_ for a couple of days...that'll give us both a chance to calm down a little...and then we'll be able to talk things over...rationally."

"Calm down? Talk r-rationally? That's impossible, Carls!" she exclaimed, raising her tear-streaked face to mine. "I'm going to b-be a complete m-mess for the next month!"

I shook my head.

"Don't worry, we won't have to wait a whole month to find out. Let's wait a few days, and then we'll both take one of those home tests...unless-" I stopped suddenly...

...unsure if I should continue.

"Unless..._what?_" she urged.

"Unless...I could...go to the pharmacy for you and then you could, you know...take...the 'Morning After' pill," I answered slowly...

...and she freaked out.

"You know I can't do that!" she yelled. "What if my...what if_ it_ grows back, because I copped out?" She was silent for a long moment. "But if _you_ want to take..."

"You know I can't either!" I exclaimed, terrified that, if I did, her prediction would prove correct...

...but just as terrified by the realization of what my unselfish refusal to take it might result in.

With an apprehensive and exhausted sigh, I turned toward the window, looking out silently and numbly for several long minutes, while the sun streamed through it...washing over us both. Such a rare, beautiful, absolutely perfect morning...

...that neither of us could enjoy in the slightest.

Turning back to Sam I began, "Look, we're both incredibly stressed out right now...and this conversation is only making things worse. Like I said, let's wait a couple of days, until we can think more rationally, and _then _we'll talk this over...okay?

Instead of answering directly, she shrugged in a very non-committal way and, turning her face away from mine, she lowered her gaze to her knees...

...while I sat next to her in silent confusion, at a complete loss as to what to say next.

"It's a really nice morning...would you like to go for a walk?" I finally offered...

...but, still not looking at me, she shook her head slowly, and then lowered her face into her hands...

...and began to sob softly...

...which broke my heart completely...

...and, now desperate to take her mind off our predicament, I stood up and, gently taking hold of her wrists, I removed her hands from her face. Almost immediately, she stopped crying and turned to me with an expression of confusion as I took them in mine, but she didn't resist as I pulled her to her feet and then slowly led her over to the bed...

...and lowered her onto it.

After gently maneuvering her onto her back, I sat down next to her and then rolled over, laying my body directly on top of hers and smiling down at her...

...as she looked up at me in silence, with her eyes full of tears and pain.

"Sam, have I reminded you lately that I love you...so very much?" I asked softly...

...and to my surprise, after only a moment's hesitation, she murmured, "I love you too," with a very faint smile...

...and, encouraged by this, I leaned down and kissed her...fleetingly at first, but then, when I felt her lips begin to move tentatively under mine, I met their caress with my own...slowly and sensually...determined to devote the next hour (at least) to nothing else but trying my hardest to make her feel good...

...and hopefully, to help her...well both of us...temporarily forget what we'd soon be forced to confront again...

...but, less than a minute later, she turned her face away from mine and shook her head; and feeling both dismayed and disappointed, I reluctantly stopped. When she didn't move or respond further, I lay my hand against her cheek.

"Sam?"

No answer.

I hesitated for a moment and then asked, "You didn't sleep very well last night...or very long...did you?"

"Not really," she admitted readily...

...and I nodded.

"Well then, why don't we take a nap now...unless you'd rather I make breakfast for you?" I added quickly.

Closing her eyes, she shook her head again; so, rolling onto my back, I pulled her over onto my chest, and wrapped my arms around her...feeling slightly reassured as I felt her body settle into them.

I didn't bother to set the alarm, and when I did finally open my eyes (to the sound of Sam's loudly-growling stomach), the clock's display read 2:53.

I knew she hadn't slept well because, due to the way she had tossed and turned (almost non-stop) on my chest, I hadn't either. But that didn't matter, because I had much more important things to focus on at the moment than how exhausted I felt.

Since her stomach was now positively screaming in protest because we'd skipped breakfast, I decided that making lunch was my top priority; and so, after a few words of explanation, I slid out from under her and hurried downstairs...

...and, realizing that she was ravenous, I made four extra sandwiches...

...but when I set the heaping tray on the bed beside her, she barely ate anything...even though I did, while incredibly surprised at my huge appetite, considering the circumstances.

As I headed out of the bedroom door, taking the lunch tray back down to the kitchen, I looked over my shoulder...

...and saw that she was climbing back into the window seat.

Stopping only to put the leftovers in the fridge and stack the dishes in the sink, I soon returned to the bedroom to find her, with her feet up on the cushion and her knees under her chin, staring straight ahead, at nothing in particular.

Walking over to where she sat, I reached down and lay a hand against her cheek.

"Sam?" I asked hesitantly, and then, after a long moment of reflection, continued, "Maybe it was wrong of me to make you wait to discuss...things. We could talk right now...if you wan-"

"No" she answered at once, in a flat, detached voice, still staring blankly ahead...

...while I stood next to her, looking down at her motionless body, trying to figure out what it would be best to do next.

I soon had an answer...of sorts.

Even though...thanks to using towels while we'd been intimate...the purple sheets on my bed were still relatively clean, they were also a reminder...for both of us...of what had happened during the past two nights; and so I stripped them off, exchanging them for a set of gray and white windowpane plaid ones. Even though I took my time, when I'd finished, Sam still hadn't moved; and, at so, a complete loss as to what I should do next, I crossed over to the far side of the room, and then sat down, slouching in my desk chair...

...watching her in silence...

...trying my hardest to think logically...

...but still completely unsure of what to do or say...

...only aware of how much I hated myself...and of what my actions last night were now making her go through...

...while wishing with all my heart that she wouldn't have to suffer anymore for what she'd so unselfishly done for me...

...and _praying_ that she hadn't been ovulating last night...

...while realizing...terrified...what might be happening..._right now..._inside my own exhausted, stressed-out body.

I'm not sure how long we sat like that...it had to have been at least an hour-and-a-half...but finally she moved. Shifting slightly in her seat and turning her head to the left, she pressed her forehead against the window, looking downward...

...and I knew why...

...it was because she was playing_ The Traffic Game_, a favorite of ours, and one which we've played often, since we were about nine. Since then, the two of us have spent countless hours sitting in that same window seat, looking down and watching the cars that whiz past my building...

...while making up and sharing the most fantastic stories of who the drivers are, and where they're going, and what they're going to do once they get there. It's always been the perfect way for the two of us to escape (temporarily) from the Real World...and to pass the time on long, lonely, rainy days...

...but today there was no rain...just an abundance of breathtakingly-beautiful, late afternoon sunlight slanting in lazily through the windows.

Finally, with a quiet sigh, I glanced down at my watch.

6:18.

I knew that Spencer wasn't home yet, because he always calls up the stairs to me when he arrives; so, turning in my chair, I spent the next several minutes staring over at the huge display of Easter candy that was sitting on my dresser...

...still completely untouched...

...while trying to figure out what to make Sam for dinner; hoping that sitting down to a good meal would give her something else to focus on besides the horrible predicament we both were currently in. Unfortunately, no menu ideas whatsoever presented themselves, and so I decided to ask her what she wanted...

...but not wanting to rudely interrupt her reverie by calling across the room, I got up from my desk chair...

...and started to walk over to her...

...but, about halfway across the room, I came to a complete stop...

...and stood there, frozen in shock.

No!

It couldn't be...could it?

Changing directions abruptly, I sprinted across the room, through my door; and then, while ignoring the sound of Sam calling my name (worriedly and repeatedly), I tore down the hall.

Flinging the bathroom door open and rushing over to the toilet, I yanked both my sweatpants and my panties down together, with trembling hands, and as I did, I saw that my period had started again...

...from the very beginning...

...with a vengeance...

...and I welcomed it...

...as, sitting down, I began bawling in relief.

Not more than two minutes later, Sam came tearing into the bathroom. "Help! Tampons! Advil! _Now!"_

"Sam, come here!" I demanded quickly, while hastily wiping my eyes on the back of my hand.

"I can't!" she wailed, rushing at breakneck speed toward the vanity...

...and her stash of tampons.

"_Now__,_ Sam!"

"But I'm..._leaking!_" she protested.

"Sam. Here. Now," I insisted, giving her T_he Look_...

...and, without further protest, she walked reluctantly over to where I sat...

...and as she stood in front of me, looking thoroughly confused...

...I reached forward, grabbed her hips, and pulled her as close to me as possible; and then I quickly unzipped her cargo shorts and pulled them down past her knees...

...and then I immediately did the same with her white boxers...

...because I needed to see for myself...

...and was incredibly relieved when, through tear-blurred eyes, I saw the huge period stain that was on them...

...and then, without a word, Sam leaned forward and reached down. Pulling the front of my panties toward herself, she looked down inside them...

...and when she saw how soaked they were...

...she sighed in relief; and, leaning over farther, she pressed her cheek against the top of my head.

"Thank God, Cupcake!" she exclaimed, with a noticeable catch in her very unsteady voice. "Thank God we're not knocked up!"

Before I could answer, she grabbed my wrists and dragged me up onto my feet; and as she wrapped her arms around me and held me tightly against her, I heard her say, "You're not going to believe this...but I was just wishing with all my heart that you weren't!"

"So was I wishing it for you!" I gasped...

...and then, without another word, she reached down and pulled my T-shirt over my head.

In an instant she had undressed me, and herself; and picking me up in her arms, she carried me over to the shower. Setting me down inside, she climbed in beside me, and adjusted the water...

...and then...very, very politely, she carefully washed me from head to toe. Once she had finished, she stood quietly,with her arms around my neck, allowing me to do the same to her; and, after drying me off, she hurried over to the vanity, but soon returned...

...holding two tampons.

"Sam, no!" I gasped.

"Shh. Come on, try it...just this one time," she urged.

I shook my head.

"I've never-"

"I know," she replied with a smile. "...but that's okay. I'll show you how."

I looked down as she unwrapped one and then held it out to me.

"It's not that I don't know _how_...it's just that...Super Plus? There's no way I'll be able to-"

"After what happened two nights ago...you shouldn't have any problem. Please? Just this once?" she asked again...

...and aware that, due to the tremendous sacrifices she'd made for me, it was the least I could do, I took it from her outstretched hand...

...and tried to insert it...

...gasping seconds later, "OW! I can't get it in!"

"Relax," she advised me.

"I am-_OW!_" I answered loudly.

"Why won't it go in?" she asked, looking confused. "Is it because you're sore?"

I shook my head.

"No. Not at all. It's just that I'm way too...it's way too _big-__**OW!**_" I exclaimed...

...and, with an understanding nod, she reached over, took it from my hand, and tossed it into the wastebasket; and then unwrapped and inserted her own...

...slowly, and with an unmistakeable grimace on her face...

...which immediately morphed into one of elation as she exclaimed, "Oh, my God!_ Mine_ didn't go in easily!"

"Yeah...so?" I replied. "What's so exciting about th-"

"Don't you see, Cupcake?" she shouted. "We both got our wishes..._again!_ Yours was that we could wait to be together. Mine was to not have sex with a penis. And now...since I'm having such a hard time putting one in, I obviously haven't been penetrated...and since you can't even get one in at all...it means that you haven't either!"

"Oh, my God, Sam! You're right!" I gasped, as the reality of the situation finally became clear. "We both _did_ get our wishes! I guess each person is entitled to more than one-" I stopped speaking for a moment, before adding with utmost seriousness, "We're both going to have to be extremely careful what we wish for from now on."

She nodded vigorously, and then said, "I'll be right back," leaving the room and heading up the hall. Less than a minute later, she was handing me a clean pair of panties and a pad; and, after I'd put them on, she took both of my hands in her own.

"Carls...are you a virgin?" she asked.

"Yes," I answered with a smile...and with confidence. "Are you?"

"Yes." She paused. "Do you still want to..._wait_ for us to be together?"

"Will you...let me wait?" I asked shyly.

"Of course, Cupcake...for as long as you want me to," she assured me...

...and I rested my hands on her shoulders and replied, "We _will_ be together, Sam...someday...I promise."

"I know we will," she answered, wrapping her arms around my waist. "And it'll be the Right Way..._I_ promise."

As she pulled me close I asked, "So, those two nights that we...they didn't...count as our first time?"

"Of course not," she mumbled, with her mouth against my shoulder...

...and then, without another word, she released me and headed back down the hall...

...while I stood with my hands flat against the top of the vanity and my head bowed...

...saying a fervent prayer of thanks.

Less than five minutes later, as I was walking into my bedroom, the first thing I noticed...

...was the long trail of candy wrappers on the floor...which stretched from my dresser all the way over to my bed, where she sat...

...stuffing her face.

"Sam!" I yelled.

Sitting cross-legged, and wearing only a pair of red and white striped boxers she looked up, her eyes partly obscured by her damp bangs, which hung down limply over them.

"What?" she asked defensively. "I saved you some!"

Deciding that attending to my empty stomach was way more important at the moment than scolding/tidying up after her, I hurried over to my dresser, quickly pulled a clean T-shirt over my head, and then joined her on the bed, to help polish off the rest of the candy.

It didn't take long.

Immediately afterward, I picked up all of the debris from the floor and the bed. After throwing them away, I brought a damp washcloth back from the bathroom and cleaned Sam's unsurprisingly-chocolate-smudged face; and then, sitting down on the bed, I turned to her with a smile.

"Feeling better now?" I asked.

Returning my smile, she flung her arms around my neck and answered me with a kiss...

...one which lasted so long that I lost all track of time.

When we finally came up for air, I lay down, pulled her over onto my chest, and tangled my right hand in her hair; realizing as I did that, since she was currently so well-fed, stress-free, and content, that it was probably the best time to bring up another important issue.

Pushing her hair off her forehead, I began, "Sam, speaking of kissing, can we talk about something...without you, uh...freaking out?"

"Of course. Nothing could possibly freak me out more than what we just went through," she declared...

...and feeling somewhat reassured, I took a deep breath.

"Well, okay. There's something I need to tell you. It seems that Freddie-"

The instant I said his same, her body stiffened in my arms and she yelled, "The next time I see that son of a-oomph!"

"Just listen to me for a minute," I demanded...

...with my hand now firmly across her mouth...

...while ignoring the violent way she shook her head in protest...

...as I continued, "The night that we came back from the beach, I'm almost positive Freddie was looking through the peephole of his front door and saw us kissing in the hall. That's why he's been acting like such a-"

Jerking her face away from my hand, she vowed, "I'm gonna strangl-"

"No...you're not!" I corrected her, tightening my grip on her body with both of my arms and attempting to hold her still as I continued, "Look, Sam, I absolutely agree with you that he did at the pharmacy was incredibly rude, but just put yourself in his place for a second. Try to remember how badly he's suffering right now...because we're together, instead of with him...suffering just as badly as we just did...so can't you cut him some slack...just this once?"

At these words, she stopped flailing her arms and legs, and then was silent for a very long time.

"Okay, okay! I won't make him pay...just this once!" she (finally) agreed...

...and I soon felt her body relax again...

...and her lips press against my neck...just for a moment...

...and I spent the next ten minutes lying there in silence and in perfect contentment, with her head on my chest...

...until, suddenly, I sat up with a gasp...

...as I realized that, due to everything we'd been through for the past two days...or maybe in spite of it...that I'd never even told Sam the story of The Bonsen Shaman.

How could I have forgotten that?

"Carls? Carls...are you okay?" she asked, sounding worried...

...and, realizing that my sitting up so abruptly must have scared her, I immediately lay back down and tightened my arms around her once again...

...and then I spent the next twenty minutes relating the entire story of the Bonsen and Peckutt tribes...

...every bit as dramatically as it had been told to me two nights ago...

...watching in amusement the look of stunned bewilderment on her face as I did.

When I had finished, she was silent for a long time.

"What are you thinking about?" I finally asked, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.

"Well," she said slowly, "it's just that...that story seems kind of...familiar...like I've heard it somewhere before. Do you think it's possible I..." she hesitated for a long moment, "...that I somehow managed to wake up during one of Mr. Devlin's History classes?"

"No! No way could that have happened!" I assured her...

...and, looking incredibly relieved, she shifted on my chest and then lifted her eyes to mine.

"Carls?"

"Hmm?"

"Is it just me or...well, does it seem to you like...none of this really happened?" she asked slowly.

"Yes," I agreed without hesitation. "I feel the same way...now that everything is...back to normal...and especially since we were standing in that empty lot at the park."

She lay there in my arms for a long time without speaking before adding, "Then, did we dream it...all of it?"

"I'm not sure...but I think we_ must_ have," I answered...

...and she nodded, looking fairly convinced...

...but less than fifteen seconds later, she gasped...

...loudly...

...and, untangling herself from my arms, she jumped off the bed...

...and tore across room...

...over to her backpack.

Grabbing it off my desk, she ran back to the bed, unzipping it as she did; and then, reaching inside...

...she began flinging random items out of it...

...and I watched as a large saute pan, a broken pocket watch, two textbooks, a partially-eaten bag of potato chips, a chrome-plated police whistle, and half a dozen mismatched socks went sailing around the room in all directions...

...until, plunging her hand deeply inside and scrabbling around in the bottom for nearly a minute, she finally pulled it back out...

...with something grasped tightly in her fist.

As she fell down next to me on the bed, I sat up and watched as she opened her hand...

...and then we both stared down in amazement at what was lying on her open palm...

...a large, slightly-battered bronze disk...

...one that we'd both seen before...

...with the name *Oswell's Oddities* embossed in high relief on its face.

I'm not sure how long we sat staring down at it, but finally, with shaking hands, Sam flipped it over...

...and, on its back, we saw a large, engraved question mark in the center, with raised letters surrounding the rim, spelling out the words:

_**Were You There?**_

A.N.: Stay tuned...


	8. Chapter 8

April 10th:

I don't really recall falling asleep that night...

...and I forget what woke me up around seven the next morning...

...but I do remember opening my eyes to find Sam sleeping blissfully in my arms...

...lying directly on top of me...

...and squishing me! As I shifted around under her, trying to get a bit more comfortable, I suddenly froze...

...as I realized...to my absolute horror...that I could feel a _huge_ bulge inside my panties.

Heart pounding, I plunged my right hand under the covers, spreading my legs apart as far as I could, while my hand grabbed what was between them...

...and I soon heaved a sigh of relief, as I discovered (and remembered) that what I felt wasn't a penis.

It didn't take long for my heart rate to return to normal; and once it had, I tangled all ten of my fingers deeply into Sam's hair and then lay there in total contentment, enjoying the hushed stillness of early morning; and the low, even sound of her breathing...

..and the peaceful, untroubled expression on her babyish face as it rested against my right shoulder.

Eventually curious as to what kind of day it was going to be, I turned my head to the left on my pillow, looking over toward the bank of windows that stretched along the Eastern wall of my room, above my long, upholstered window seat...

...and lay for nearly a minute, gazing out at the vast expanse of unrelenting, iron-gray Seattle sky...

...before shifting my gaze back up to the ceiling and sighing quietly. Rain, rain, rain...

...so like April...

...and, judging by how dark the room still was even though it was now past 7 am, there would almost certainly be a major thunderstorm today, I thought...

...when suddenly, a massive, unexpected jolt of lightening exploded...

...within my brain, and then ripped violently through my body...

...and I nearly sat straight up in bed from the shock, as I realized that I'd completely forgotten something. Something of utmost importance: It was now The Tenth of April...

...which meant that Sam's birthday was exactly..._and only_...one week away!

How could I have forgotten?

I wasn't really mad at myself for not thinking of it sooner...after all, we'd both just been through hell...

...twice...

...but the problem still remained of how to celebrate it...

...and especially, what to buy her for a gift.

It didn't me take long to come up with an answer. At the beginning of the week, while we were waiting downtown for the bus to take us to Ocean Shores, Sam had suddenly (and with a loud gasp) stopped slouching against the Bus Stop's metal post, and then sprinted across the street...

...and spent the next five minutes staring into one of the front windows of the Bandana Republic store...

...at the teal and white striped rugby shirt that was on display in it.

So then, that's what I'm getting her as a gift, I concluded. It was a great idea...

...but, unfortunately, a predictable one. I buy Sam clothes nearly every holiday, because her mom _doesn't_ (she doesn't feed her either, but that's another story for another day)...

...and realizing this, the more I thought it over, the less appealing the idea of giving Sam clothes as a present again began to seem. I mean, it's going to be her first birthday as my girlfriend, I mused, and therefore, I want to do something really, really special...

...which means going way above and beyond what she'd be expecting...

..and giving her a gift that would make her deliriously happy...

...but...what?

What (besides food) would Sam absolutely love?

I spent the next twenty minutes or so trying to think of a more creative and original idea, but absolutely nothing suggested itself; and so finally, I gave up...

...intentionally let go of the problem for the time being...

...gradually, deliberately, letting my mind drift away from it...

...back toward nothingness...

...hoping that additional sleep would eventually facilitate inspiration...

...but no sooner had I closed my eyes, then they snapped open again.

_A TRIP TO THE CIRCUS!_

Of course! Why didn't I think of it earlier? Sam told me how badly she's always wanted to go...and how her mom never took her...

...and I realized that it would be the perfect gift, one that would make Sam far happier than any clothes...

...even a teal and white striped rugby shirt from Bandana Republic!

But one problem remained. I hadn't heard _anything_ about _any_ circus coming to Seattle. The last one (not counting Oswell's Oddities) was at least four years ago...

...so, what to do?

The answer was obvious: Research. First things first though: A much-needed trip to the bathroom.

As I carefully squirmed out from under Sam's sprawling body, she frowned in her sleep, and her left hand fumbled around for a moment before gripping my shirtfront limply...

...making me realize that, even unconscious, she wanted me close to her...

...which I found to be incredibly endearing and reassuring...

...and which made me that much more determined to make this birthday her best one she's ever had.

Reaching down toward my stomach, I easily removed her fingers from the front of my shirt; and, getting out of bed, I leaned over and kissed her forehead lingeringly; and then put my bathrobe on and headed down the hall.

Less than ten minutes later, I was sitting on a bar stool at my kitchen counter, with a half-finished glass of orange juice to my right, and my computer in front of me...typing away at an insane pace. Less than five minutes later, I was staring at the screen, with my mouth hanging open...

...because I couldn't believe my luck.

There_ was _a circus this weekend...

...over in Bristol...

...and not just any circus...

...but the Jingling Bros. And Farnum & Haley circus...

_...and tickets were still available for the 8 pm show on Sunday!_

Sam's gonna be so thrilled, I thought...

...but before I could hop off the bar stool and run upstairs for my debit card, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening on the far side of the living room; and I swiveled around to see Spencer, in his favorite blue plaid pajamas; staggering barefoot, silent, and bleary-eyed out of his bathroom and into the kitchen.

After rummaging in the fridge for almost a minute, he emerged, opening a bottle of iced tea; and after taking a long swig from it, he shook his head to clear it and then boomed, "Ahhh...much better! Good morning, Carly! Whatcha doin' up so early?"

"Good morning, Spencer. I'm just shopping for Sam's birthday gift. It's only seven days away."

At the sound of her name, he smiled broadly.

"Oh, decisions, decisions...Copper Nunchucks versus Chrome-Plated Brass Knuckles...such a difficult choice; but don't worry, Kiddo, I'm sure she'll be happy with either!" he quipped.

"Actually, that's not quite what I had in mind," I replied. "Not this year, anyway. Come here for a sec."

Obligingly, he walked around to my side of the counter, and then leaned down and looked over my shoulder at the computer screen.

"Wow...a trip to the circus?" he exclaimed.

"Yes...over in Bristol," I replied excitedly. "Sam told me she's always wanted to go...and tickets are still available for tomorrow night's 8 o'clock show."

"That's nice," he remarked, then paused for a moment before adding, "But I'm really sorry that you won't be able to take her."

Not believing what I'd just heard, I swiveled around to face him.

"What? _Why not?_" I demanded.

"Because it's all the way over in Bristol," he replied.

"Oh, that's okay...I promise we won't sit next to any weirdos on the bus," I assured him earnestly...

...but he shook his head.

"That's not the problem. It's ninety miles from here...and the show doesn't even start until 8...which means that you won't be home until _way_ after midnight."

"Well, couldn't you just rent a car and drive us?" I asked, still completely convinced that I could make him see reason. "After all, you love circuses...and I'll even pay for your ticket."

"I wish I could...but I can't," he replied.

"But...this is for Sam's birthday!" I repeated.

"Yes, I realize that, but still, I can't take you. There's something else I have to do."

"What? What could possibly be more important than this?" I asked, compltetly incredulous.

"I've already made plans to go to dinner with Socko tomorrow evening," he answered firmly.

"But...you have dinner over there at least three nights a week, so can't you just reschedule it?" I asked, beginning to feel slightly nervous at his failure to see my side of things. "I'm sure he'll understand."

Spencer shook his head again.

"If it was just the two of us, I would...but it's a lot more complicated than that," he replied. "Tomorrow night, he's going to be meeting with some entrepreneur from Atlantic City...who owns a number of high-end, retail apparel boutiques up and down the East Coast, and who's expressed interest in placing a huge order for custom-designed socks from him. Socko's been working on this deal for the past two months."

"So? Why do they need you there?" I asked...

...my panic now beginning to mount.

"Well, I'm supposed to be the entertainment for this guy's wife for the entire evening, to keep her amused with my wit and charm, while he and Socko are talking business."

"Can't he just get someone else to go with him?" I asked, trying hard to keep my voice_ and _my head steady...

...and to keep my rapidly-growing anxiety in check. "Please, Spencer, this is really, really important!"

"I'm sorry, Carly, but this is really important to Socko, too," he replied, "and, since I already promised_ him_ _first_, I have to keep my word."

Before he had finished that sentence, I began wracking my brain, knowing it was now imperative that I consider my remaining options...

...soon realizing...horrified...that there weren't any...

...and now, mere seconds away from tears, I reached over and grabbed his arm.

"Spencer, _Please!_ Please let us go! This would mean so much to Sam!"

"I know it would," he agreed, looking _and _sounding genuinely regretful. "But Socko asked me for this favor three weeks ago, and now the dinner is only a day away. If there was any way to ask him to get someone else to fill in for me, I would."

"Then please let us go there on the bus...I promise we'll be really, really careful! Please, Spencer...just this once?" I begged...

...but, not pausing to reconsider, he shook his head slowly.

"I'm sorry, Kiddo, but the answer is still 'no'.

"Y-you let us go to Ocean Shores b-by ourselves on the bus...and w-we came back on it...and that was late at night!" I reminded him, tightening my grip on his arm and looking up at him pleadingly.

"Yes, that's true" he admitted, "but you were back by 10:30...and that was the 509 bus, the one that goes to Ocean Shores. To get to Bristol and back, you'll have to take the 553 bus...and that one picks up in some very rough neighborhoods. There have been four robberies on the 553 in the past six months...and three of them were armed robberies."

"Sam will be there to protect me," I reminded him.

"Can she deflect bullets?" he countered.

"Well, no...but-"

"Look, Carly," he interrupted, laying a hand over mine, "if you were going to a morning or afternoon show, I'd say 'yes' to this, but all four of those robberies on the 553 occurred after 11 at night. Don't worry though," he added, noticing my devastated expression, "I'm sure there will be other circuses that you can take Sam to."

"No, there won't!" I insisted stubbornly, with an obvious catch in my voice, as I began blinking rapidly.

"I'm sure there will be," he replied gently...

...as I swiveled away from him, back toward my computer...

...and then sat very still...

...trying very hard not to cry.

I was crushed. Even though he knew how important this was to me, he obviously wasn't going to change his mind; and, after what had happened at the MMA Exhibition, I knew that I _didn't dare_ sneak out and go behind his back. Looking downward, I grabbed onto my knees with both hands to steady myself, and stared down at the computer keyboard...

...silent and heartbroken.

It was no good. I was going to have to give it up and buy Sam the rugby shirt instead...

...but even though she'd be absolutely thrilled...

...I definitely wouldn't.

The sound of Spencer's voice snapped me back to the present...

...as I felt him wrapping his arms around me from behind, and pulling me back against his chest.

"Look, Carly. You do understand that I'm really sorry to have to say 'no' to you...don't you?" he asked.

Without looking up, I nodded slowly...

...and he bent down and kissed my cheek.

"Good girl. Now, listen to me very carefully. After this weekend, you and I are going to start checking online for circuses...and we're going to_ keep_ checking online for circuses...and the very next time one comes to the area, I _promise _I'll drive you and Sam there...okay?"

I didn't respond.

He didn't notice.

"Socko's picking me up in an hour," he continued. "I promised to help him design his new business card logo, and then I have to do some shopping, so I'm going to be busy for most of the day; but I should be home around four this afternoon," he stated, giving me a final squeeze, before heading back into the kitchen, and over to the cabinet where we keep our cereal...

...while I slid off my bar stool and headed back upstairs...

...dragging my feet the entire way.

The instant I lay back down next to Sam, she rolled over on top of me again; and, as her arms went around my neck, she sighed in unconscious contentment...

...which made me feel even worse than I already did. I wanted so badly to take her to the circus tomorrow...

...and there _had _to be a way...

...but_ how_? Spencer had forbidden us to go. While wrestling with this seemingly insurmountable problem and wishing with all my heart that I could find a solution...for Sam's sake, I closed my eyes again...

...reopening them shortly thereafter (still without an answer), when I felt her stretching in all directions on top of me.

I glanced over at the clock...

...9:32...

...before looking down into her eyes.

"Good Morning, Beautiful," she murmured, with an adorable sleepy smile, tilting her face upward and kissing my chin.

"Good Morning, Handsome," I replied, reaching down...

...and tickling her.

Shrieking, she rolled off me.

"Foul! I wasn't even awake yet!" she protested...

...trying - and failing - to look furious.

Giving her a sincere, apologetic look, I held my arms out again; and, after a long moment's hesitation, she crawled back on top of me. Wrapping her own arms around my neck, she lay her head next to mine on the pillow; and, after we'd held each other without speaking for about five minutes, she asked, Whatcha thinkin' about?"

I shook my head.

"Come on, Cupcake," she urged with a smile, "I can always tell when you have something on your mind."

Unwilling to disappoint her by explaining that my fantastic gift idea for her was ruined, I shifted my gaze up to the ceiling, trying to figure out what I should actually tell her instead.

She waited patiently until, finally hitting on an alternative, I looked down at her and said, "I was just thinking about...the mountain of laundry we need to do today."

Her face fell.

"Aw, man! I have _no interest_ in that...so count me out!"

"Guess again, Mister Current Events...consider yourself _Counted In_!" I retorted. "But don't worry," I continued, while ignoring her reproachful gaze, "effort equals reward and so..._After_ _You've Helped Me_," I emphasized, while giving her a Very Pointed Look, "I promise that I'll take you..." I paused for dramatic effect, before continuing, "...to_ JFC_ for fried chicken!"

Immediately, her eyes lit up.

"Really, Carls?" she exclaimed...

...and I nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes! I promise!" I assured her, and then reached down and gave her a little smack on the butt. "Now go take a shower and get dressed, while I get breakfast ready."

I had no intention of telling Sam that my reasons for taking her to JFC were actually threefold: 1) To make her happy, by treating her to one of her favorite meals 2) To make sure the rugby shirt she wanted was still in Banana Republic's front window (that store does an incredible amount of business) 3) To get out of the apartment and stretch my legs, because taking a long walk always helps me to think...

...and maybe all of that thinking would eventually lead me to a solution that would enable us to go to the circus.

After we'd eaten breakfast, I parked Sam in front of the TV temporarily while I showered and dressed; and then, after loading five baskets of dirty clothes (hers, mine, and Spencer's) onto his hand truck, and then grabbing the back of Sam's shirt in a vice-like grip, I steered both her and the hand truck out the front door of my apartment and down to the First Floor laundry room.

I won't bore you with a long, detailed account of washing our clothes, (except to mention that Sam's contribution to the project consisted only of throwing softener sheets into the dryers); but three hours later, just as I'd finished putting the last of her neatly folded boxer shorts back into the 'Sam' drawer of my dresser, she began jumping up and down, while chanting rapidly and maniacally...and loudly, "JFC!-JFC!-JFC!-JFC!-JF-"

"Okay, okay!" I shouted, grabbing hold of her arm, forcing her feet back onto the floor. "Calm down! I'm sure the restaurant is still there!"

With a look of mock offense at my 'insensitivity to her needs', she stopped yelling, shook my hand off, and then walked across the room and grabbed her gray hooded sweatshirt from the back of my desk chair. After pulling it on, she returned to where I stood, and stuck her lower lip way, way out...

...still pretending to be mortally offended and injured...

...even as I pulled her to me and looked deeply into her eyes.

"Who loves you?" I asked softly...

...and immediately, she tilted her head up and to the right...

...and stared at the ceiling...

...with a look of profound confusion on her face...

...for about five seconds...

...until, in two swift strides...

...I stepped behind her and, cocking my hand far, far back...

...I smacked her on the butt.

Hard.

"OW!" she yelled, grabbing her backside with both hands...

...while I, with a smug smile, headed wordlessly over to the bedroom door...

...but before I could walk through it, those same two hands grabbed my shoulders and playfully spun me around...

...and I felt an indescribable thrill shoot through me as I found myself staring into the world's most beautiful Cerulean-blue eyes...

...for a split second...

...before she closed them and, tilting her head forward, her lips made contact with mine.

Ten minutes later, _still_ joined at the lips...

...I somehow found us standing at my front door.

Our (thankfully rain-free) walk downtown was relatively uneventful, except that, as we passed Bandana Republic's front windows, Sam was drawn like a magnet to the right-hand one (again), where she leaned, with her nose pressed against the glass, while I stood behind her...

...smiling quietly. Even though I still was extremely disappointed about my circus idea not panning out (due to lack of a solution, I was now pretty sure we wouldn't be able to go), I knew she still was going to be very happy with the shirt, so maybe it wasn't such a bad gift idea after all.

Shortly thereafter, I found myself standing behind her, in the middle line at JFC's front counter...

...rolling my eyes, as she argued with the cashier.

"Whaddya mean_** twenty minutes?**_ I'm starving _Now_!"

The cashier sighed wearily.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Miss; but we just sold our last chicken pot pie."

"So? Throw some more in the oven!" Sam demanded, rather loudly...and obnoxiously.

"We just did," the lady confirmed, "...but it takes at least twenty minutes for the crust to brown properl-"

Sam looked livid.

"What? This is supposed to be a Fast food restaurant! So why don't you take your jank, lame-ass crust and shov-mmmph!"

"Sorry ma'am...my when my friend here is hungry, she gets a little cranky," I apologized...

...with my right hand clamped firmly over Sam's jaw.

"Mmph gnr-nuh knll dft mreefjl!" she announced, trying to squirm her way out from under it.

In one swift motion, I pulled her body back against mine and lowered my mouth to her ear.

"Listen to me," I said, gesturing with my free hand toward the two salads and four chicken sandwiches (one for me, three for her) that were sitting on the counter in front of us. "We'll start with the first and second courses, and by the time we've finished, I'm sure your pot pie will be read-"

I didn't get to finish...

...because, without further thrashing or muffled verbal protestations, she jerked her body free of my hand, snatched our tray from the counter, turned on her heel, and without a backward glance, disappeared around the corner to the back of the restaurant where the seats were located...

...while I slipped the lady behind the counter an additional two fives.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," she replied with a gracious and understanding smile.

Back at the table, Sam tore through her food in record time, soon rising from her seat.

"POT PIE TIME!"

"It's only been seven minutes," I reminded her.

"I know. I plan to use the remaining thirteen to fix that idiotic cashier with a death glare," she informed me.

Automatically and instinctively, I shot her _The Look_.

"Okay, okay...not_ death_...just hostility," she conceded huffily over her shoulder, as she walked briskly up toward the restaurant's front counter.

With an exasperated sigh, I turned my attention from her rapidly-retreating back...

...to the cluttered tabletop, collecting our empty containers and wrappers, and piling them back onto the tray, when suddenly I heard a familiar voice.

"Carly? Is that you?" someone asked...

...and I looked up to see Wendy Carlson, a classmate of ours from Ridgeway, walking up the aisle toward my table; with a wide smile on her face, and a large JFC shopping bag in her right hand.

Always glad to see her, I answered, "Hi, Wendy! How's everything?"

"Everything's fine," she replied, stopping directly in front of where I sat and looking down at me. "I just saw Sam up there in line, but she looked like she was really uh..._"busy" _with the cashier, so I didn't stop to talk to her."

"Well, Sam will be Sam," I replied, with a resigned nod.

"True dat!" she agreed with a laugh.

I glanced around the dining area, and then turned back to Wendy.

"So, are you here by yourself?"

"Yes and no. I just ran in to grab lunch for myself and my mom...she's waiting out in the car," she replied, nodding toward the huge bay window, to the left of where I sat.

"Oh. Please tell her I said hello. So, how is your mom, anyway?"

"She's okay...and didn't we just pass you and Sam, over on Pine Street? I wasn't sure, because I only saw your backs...you both were looking in a store window?"

"Yes, that was us," I confirmed. "I was just watching Sam drool over a rugby shirt at Bandana Republic. Her birthday is next Saturday, so that's what I'm getting her."

Wendy smiled sagely.

"Well, aside from food, I can't think of any gift Sam would appreciate more."

"I can," I informed her. "What she'd love more than anything would be a trip to the circus...and I wanted to surprise her with one, but that...didn't pan out," I finished sadly.

"Really?" Wendy asked. "What happened, were they sold out?"

"No, tickets are still available, but Spencer is busy and can't take us...and he doesn't want us out past midnight if we're taking the bus that far."

"Wait...do you mean the Jingling Bros. Circus...over in Bristol?" she asked.

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Oh...I thought you meant that a circus was coming to Seattle next Saturday," she answered.

"No, I was planning for the two of us to celebrate early," I explained.

Wendy looked down at the tabletop thoughtfully for a moment, and then back up at me.

"Which show were you planning to take her to?"

"Eight pm, tomorrow night."

"Well, that works out well, because my mom and I are going tomorrow...to the eight o'clock show...and I don't think she'll mind if you catch a ride with us."

"_Really?_" I asked...

...entirely too loudly...

...causing at least six people at nearby tables to look up from their food...and stare at me...

...but I didn't care in the slightest...

...because I couldn't believe that I was looking at this incredible opportunity.

"Hang on for a second, I'll ask Mom if it's okay," Wendy offered, setting her shopping bag on Sam's empty chair, and then moving over to the window and waving her arms.

"Isn't your food going to get cold?" I asked, as I watched her trying to get her mother's attention..

"It's already cold. Two orders of gazpacho, two chicken salad sandwiches, and two chocolate shakes," she replied over her shoulder.

Within seconds, I heard a car door slam, and less than a minute later, Mrs. Carlson, who bears a very striking resemblance to Wendy (and is every bit as pretty) appeared from behind me.

"Carly?" she asked, looking somewhat surprised to find me there.

"Hi, Mrs. Carlson! It's nice to see you," I replied, smiling up at her.

Wendy turned to her mother.

"Mom, Carly and Sam wanted to go to the circus tomorrow night, but they don't have a ride. Would it be okay if they came with us?"

"Of course it would; I'd be happy to take you both," she replied without hesitation, turning back to me with a smile.

"Thanks Mrs. Carlson, you have no idea how much I'd appreciate that!" I exclaimed.

"It would be my pleasure," she assured me. "Do you have your tickets yet?"

"No, but I checked online this morning, and there's still some available for the eight o'clock show," I replied, reaching into my handbag for my phone. "I'll just order them now, while you're right h-"

"There's no need for you to do that, dear," Mrs. Carlson replied amiably. "I happen to have two extra tickets."

"You do?" I asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Wendy chimed in. "Going to the circus was originally my brother's idea. He wanted to take his girlfriend, and Mom bought four tickets so we all could go; but it turns out that Stephanie thinks clowns are creepy...so they're going to the movies instead...which means that it'll just be Mom and me..and there'll be plenty of room in the car."

"That would be perfect, we can all sit together!" I replied, reaching back into my handbag and pulling my wallet out. "Now, how much do I owe your for-"

Mrs. Carlson looked offended.

"Oh, no, dear, I wouldn't take your money! If you want the tickets, they're yours."

I shook my head vigorously in protest.

"Mrs. Carlson, thanks, but I couldn't possibly-"

She held her hand up.

"Carly, they're yours, so save your money. Here's what we're going to do. I have to go into the office for a couple of hours early tomorrow afternoon; but as soon as I finish, I'll pick Wendy up and then come for you and Sam...around four-thirty. We'll have an early dinner on the way over ther-"

"Well, if you're giving us those tickets, then dinner is definitely on me," I interrupted...

...but Mrs. Carlson reached down and covered my hand with her own.

"No, dinner is going to be on me...and please don't argue, because I insist! Tomorrow evening, you and Sam are coming as my guests. I haven't forgotten what you both did for us last Christmas."

(By 'us', she was referring to the _Sunny Side Avenue Soup Kitchen_, where she serves as a volunteer on the Board of Directors.)

Before I could protest again, she continued, "Last November, when Wendy told you and Sam about our Holiday Dinner Drive, you featured it on your show, for three weeks straight, and the response was amazing. Not only did local residents drop off an incredible amount of food, but donations of money poured in from your fans, from all over the country. Originally, it had been our goal to help seventy-five families, but we ended up helping almost three-hundred...and it was mostly because of you and Sam. I've never forgotten that, and now I want to show my appreciation."

Touched and grateful, I answered, "Thanks, Mrs. Carlson. I'm planning this trip as a surprise, for Sam's birthday...

...but then my voice trailed off...

...as an ominous thought occurred to me: Spencer and Mrs. Carlson barely knew each other.

"...but I'm still not sure Spencer will let me go," I concluded dejectedly.

"Well, let me talk to him," Mrs. Carlson offered, reaching inside her jacket and pulling her phone out.

"Sam's in line, Mom," Wendy announced. She's going to be here any minute, and this is supposed to be a surprise."

Mrs. Carlson glanced at her watch.

"Okay, why don't you give me Spencer's number, and I'll call him on our way home...and I'll have him call you right back with his answer."

With a badly trembling hand, I grabbed an index card and a pen from my bag, scribbled Spencer's cell number down, and held it out to her...

...and after thanking Mrs. Carlson again; and saying goodbye to her and to Wendy, they turned to leave...

...just in time, it turned out...

...because less than two minutes later, Sam reappeared...

_...holding a tray piled high with food._

"What's all that?" I asked in surprise. "I thought you only ordered one pot pie."

She smiled at me triumphantly.

"Well, yeah, but when the manager heard me uh...'discussing' my order with the cashier, he came over to see if everything was okay, and, when he recognized me from iCarly, I told him all about the new 'Seattle Restaurant Reviews' segment we're going to feature on the show-"

"What are you talking about?" I broke in. "We're not planning to do any Seattle Restaurant Revi-"

"That's what you think!" she informed me...

...with grim determination...

...before continuing, "Anyway, when I told him that I was uh, 'less than delighted' with the service here...and that _**hundreds of thousands of people tune in every week**_..he decided to apologize...with this!" she concluded, setting the heaping tray down in front of me.

(For the record, JFC's fried chicken, mashed potatoes, biscuits, macaroni & cheese, cookies, and lemonade are really delicious...especially when they're absolutely free) but I was way too on-edge to do more than taste everything...

...because I was too busy struggling with both impatience _and _anxiety, as I waited for Spencer to call.

About ten minutes later, my phone (finally(!) vibrated in my pocket...

...and I jumped to my feet.

"Gotta-pee-be-right-back!" I blurted out, tearing up the aisle and toward the Ladies Room...

...which, mercifully, was empty.

Locking the door, and with heart hammering, I hit the 'on' key, and breathlessly clapped the phone to my ear...

...to hear a single word.

"Yes."

"Oh, Spencer, thank you! Thank you s-o-o-o much! You have no idea how much this means to me...and how much it's going to mean to her!" I gushed...

...so loudly that my voice's echo ricocheted off the bathroom's tiled walls and floors for nearly half a minute.

"You're welcome," he answered benevolently, as, greatly relieved, I flattened my back against the door for support.

"So, what are you up to today?" he continued.

"Having lunch with Sam...but I'm telling her right afterward!"

"Well then, I'll leave you to it. I'll see you at home this evening."

I thanked him again (profusely), said goodbye, and hung up; and then, smiling like a maniac, I tore back to my seat.

Sam looked up in surprise from her nearly empty pot pie bowl.

"Wow, that was a fast squirt!" she announced...sounding and looking incredibly impressed.

Ignoring this, I fell into my seat and snatched the oversized bag of sugar cookies off the table.

"Uh, so...what's up with you, anyway?" she asked, noticing my elated smile.

"Oh, nothing," I replied breezily...

...attacking them with gusto...

...and less than a minute later, with a look of alarm on her face; she leaned across the table and made a wild grab for the bag...

...with both hands.

"Hey! Save me some!"

Without hesitation, I held it out to her, and then just sat there...grinning at her like an idiot.

"Hmm...I suggest you tell me, Carls...because it's definitely not 'nothing'," she stated, cookie crumbs flying in all directions from her lips as she spoke.

"Well, okay," I admitted, "I have some big news...but I'll tell you after lunch."

Her face fell.

"What? Why can't you tell me now?" she demanded.

"Well, if I told you why I couldn't tell you...that would be the same thing as telling you!" I retorted...

...watching as her expression of confusion morphed into one of resentful suspense.

"Cupcake...spill...now!" she demanded...

...but I just shook my head and smiled mysteriously...

...and, slapping her palms onto the table top, she leaned across it, until her face was less than two inches from mine.

"Carlotta Taylor Shay...I_order_ you to tell me, right n-"

I reached up and patted the top of her head.

"Later, Darling; and trust me, this is worth the wait," I answered...

..and then, with a reluctant, yet resigned nod, she turned (enthusiastically) back to our remaining food.

Fifteen minutes later, we were walking through the front entrance gates to Meridian Park...

...and I was absolutely bursting with excitement.

About twenty feet up the path, Sam (predictably) turned in the direction of Bushwell Plaza, but I took hold of her arm and gently steered her over to the park's usually deserted North East corner; over to the huge, ancient statue of _Neleus & His Dolphin;_ which had been excavated over one hundred years ago from some seaside town in Greece...and had been gifted to the city of Seattle by the Greek government.

Sitting down on the bench nearest Neleus's marble plinth, I pulled Sam down beside me and turned to face her...

...and then, _to my complete astonishment_, she turned to me as well...

...too curious about my impending news to even stare at/make rude remarks about naked Neleus's fully-exposed genitalia...

...which (for the record), every time we're over here she never fails to do(!)...

...but instead asked, "Okay, now what's this big secret of yours?"

Brimming with the anticipation of seeing her delighted reaction, I replied, "Well, Sam, I know that your birthday is coming up this weekend..."

(Leaning forward expectantly, she nodded.)

"...and I was wondering if you'd mind if we celebrated it a week early this year?" I added.

She only hesitated for a moment before replying, "I guess not. So, what did you have in mind?"

I smiled indulgently before asking, "Sam, what's the greatest show on earth?"

"_Girly Cow on Zombie Island: Meadow of Mayhem_...hands down!" she answered enthusiastically...

...but I shook my head.

"No, Sam. I was referring to...the circus."

She frowned.

"Oh. I'm sure _Oswell's Oddities_ isn't over there anymore...but if you want, we _could_ go look again-"

"No, Sam," I interrupted, "I was referring to a_ real_ circus...like Jingling Brothers!"

"Aw, that circus never comes to Seattle," she answered dismissively...

...and accurately.

"You're right," I replied, "it doesn't...but it_ is_ over in Bristol this weekend...and you and I are going to see it...together...tomorrow night!" I announced...

...and her jaw dropped.

"What? N-no w-way!" she spluttered, as I reached down and grabbed both of her hands.

"Yes...we are!" I assured her. "Spencer's going to be busy, so he can't take us...but Wendy's mom can, because she and Wendy are going. I just talked to them at JFC, while you were up in line."

"Really?" she asked, still staring at me in stunned disbelief.

"Yes! Really! Do you think your mom will mind if you go?" I asked, somewhat nervously...

...wanting to make absolutely sure that I had covered all bases, and that nothing could and/or would screw this up.

"Aw, she won't care...but I'll call her anyway, if it'll make you feel better" Sam replied...

...and I nodded, and then sat next to her, still not entirely confident, as she pulled her phone out and dialed the number.

After what seemed forever, she finally said, "Hey, Mom! I'm going to Bristol, to the circus with Carls...no, not tonight...tomorrow night...what? Aw c'mon...not _this_ Sunday! But I...but you...no I haven't forgotten...okay, fine! What time?" she asked bitterly...

...as my heart sank into my shoes.

Seconds later, she sprawled against the bench's backrest, looking incredibly relieved...

...and so did I...

...as she continued, "Oh, well _that _I can do. Technically, that's Monday morning,...not Sunday night. Yes, I'll be there by 3 am at the latest. So...I can go then? Yes, mom _I Promise I'll Be There by 3!_ Okay, bye!"

She hung up.

I rolled my eyes.

"Let me guess...your mom is hosting another one of her 'little parties'."

"Correct."

"And she needs you there, to act as Bouncer."

"Very Correct, but I still can go with y-Oh, Carls, the circus..._really?_" she gasped.

"Yes, I promise!" I assured her...

...and she threw her arms around my neck.

I hugged her back as hard as I could.

"Don't worry, Honey," I murmured into her ear. "We're definitely going to go this time. Spencer said it's okay, and Wendy's mom already has our tickets."

Hearing this, she leaned back and looked at me.

"She does? Were they expensive?"

I shook my head.

"For us...no. Her mom's taking us to the circus _and_ to dinner; and she's paying for everything, to thank us for helping the Soup Kitchen''s food drive last Christmas..."

I stopped speaking for a moment, before continuing...

...sternly...

"...and since she's being so incredibly generous, Samantha Joy Puckett, I want you to give me your solemn word that, tomorrow nigh-"

Sam exhaled huffily...

...yet resignedly.

"Okay, okay, Carls...I promise I'll be a gentleman!"

An hour later, after we'd arrived back home, while I was standing in front of my open refrigerator trying to figure out what to make for dinner (to show my profound appreciation to Spencer, for letting us go), he walked into the apartment, yelling, _"Honeys...I'm Home!"_

Slamming the door of the fridge, I hurtled into the living room...

...with my eyes riveted to the large shopping bag in his hand.

"Ooh, Spencer, you've been shopping! Whadya get? Whadya get? Whadya get?" I asked, jumping around him excitedly.

Obligingly, he opened the bag and pulled out a gorgeous, pale blue-and-white shadow-striped, Sussex Twill broadcloth shirt...followed by an Italian, navy silk tie; a pair of ribbed, over-the-calf, black dress socks; and a white linen pocket square, bordered in navy.

"Is all of this for tomorrow night?" I asked.

"Yes, to wear with my charcoal gray suit...what do you think?"

"Oh, Spencer," I exclaimed, "you're going to look so pretty!"

Hearing this, he blushed slightly while breaking into a wide smile...

...which suddenly dissolved, as he scrabbled around in the bottom of the bag.

"Oh no! I forgot to buy a belt, to go with my black tassel loafers," he moaned.

"You already have a black leather dress belt," I reminded him.

He shook his head.

"Not anymore. Last month, I accidentally spilled about a quart of turpentine on it...it's ruined." He glanced at his watch. "And the store's definitely closed by now."

"Well, there's always tomorrow," I pointed out.

"No actually there isn't," he corrected me. "I have to help Socko put the finishing touches on the portfolio of designs he's showing to that buyer from Atlantic City. It's a huge collection, over thirty illustrations, so it's going to take most of the day. When we're done, he's going to drop me off here so I can get ready for dinner, but there definitely won't be time to go shopping again."

"Well, Sam and I have to run downtown tomorrow anyway, and if you want us to, we can buy you a belt while we're there," I volunteered.

"Thanks, you'd be doing me a huge favor," he replied, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.

Even though Sam and I had just had chicken for lunch, I threw a whole one into the oven to roast, with some red bliss potatoes and baby carrots around it, and a little over two hours later the three of us sat down to dinner.

About halfway through the main course, I turned to Spencer.

"So, any word from the governor?" I asked hopefully.

Almost immediately, he dropped his eyes to the tabletop and shook his head sadly...

...so sadly that I knew that the piece of sculpture that the two of them had discussed still hadn't been commissioned...

...and judging from his expression, probably wasn't going to be...

...and right then I made the decision that I wasn't going to upset him by asking about it again. But before I could say anything to console him, he asked me, "So, what do you two have planned for this evening?

"Girly Cow, wanna join us?" Sam mumbled, with her mouth full.

Not looking up from his plate, he answered, "No, I have to make some phone calls...but thanks anyway."

After we'd finished the entree, I found some Daagen Haz chocolate ice cream (Spencer's favorite) in the freezer, but he said he wasn't hungry anymore; and then headed, with shoulders slumped, for his room.

Sam's eyes followed him down the hall.

"Spencer skipping dessert? He's really disappointed about that deal falling through, isn't he?"

"Yes, and it's such a shame. He's so talented, and he works so hard...so why can't he catch a break?" I asked her...

...and, looking almost as disappointed as he did, she shrugged...

...staring downward in silent contemplation, while I cleared the table.

There's nothing like four new, back-to-back episodes of Girly Cow to help take your mind off your problems.

We especially liked the one titled _Girly Cow vs. The High School Blob_. The Blob, it turns out, was a hideous, appalingly-creepy classmate of Girly Cow's, named Danielle Schnyder...who attended the same Performing Arts school as Girly Cow did, and who fancied herself to be a budding screenwriter, but whose work SUCKED! Anyway, when she unveiled her latest abomination at Student Assembly...

...an animated short, starring Girly Cow and entitled _I Date A Bad Bull..._

_..._which had a script so horrendous, implausible, and absurd that it pissed off every single one of Girly's schoolmates (not to mention Girly herself), a huge, violent fight broke out across the entire auditorium...

...resulting in several thousand dollars worth of damage...

...and, after their three week-long detentions had ended, Girly and her uh, 'Very Special Friend', Bessie...now determined to avenge themselves of that cinematic travesty...put their heads together, and then pooled their allowances, _and then_ put a carefully engineered (and permanent) stop to the problem of crappy, future movies from Danielle by treating her to lunch...

...at the city's nastiest, filthiest wienie wagon...

...the one over on Sal Monella Street...

...generously offering to buy her 13 hot dogs...

...while blocking her view of the cart's 'Failed Department of Health Inspection' sign with their bodies...

...and, after satisfying her gluttonous appetite by enthusiastically eating that much 'Street Meat'...

...from such a profoundly-unhygienic source...

...well, let's just say that the Blob's screenwriting days are now over...

..forever.

I love happy endings.

By eleven o'clock, we both were ready to turn in, but before I could even get up off the couch...

...Sam hopped up, reached down, picked me up...and carried me all the way up the stairs...

...while I lay contentedly in her arms...

...with my hands on her back and my head on her shoulder.

Predictably, Sam wanted to go to bed with all her clothes still on, because 'it saves time in the morning', and so (despite her protests), I ended up undressing her myself...

..and soon she was crawling resentfully under the covers, wearing just her T-shirt and boxers. Fortunately though, her sullen attitude was only momentary, because as soon as her head hit the pillow, she suddenly remembered what was on our agenda for tomorrow...

...and excitement was written all over her face, as she turned to me...

...without a word...

...and pulled me close to her...

...and I lay blissfully against her body, as she took me in her arms and began to rock me silently...

...back and forth...

...until everything around me began to blur...

...in the most pleasant way imaginable...

...before...

...finally...

...fading...

...into...

XXXXX

Less than seven hours later, we were fully awake...way too excited about the upcoming evening to even think of sleeping in. First things first, though, we both still had a full day of errands ahead of us.

At Sam's suggestion, I showered and dressed first, soon heading downstairs and into the kitchen...

...noticing as I did that she had thoughtfully prepared breakfast...

...and as I sat down to the heaping pile of Raspberry Fat Cakes, donuts, glazed crullers, and fudge ripple ice cream that she'd set on the table, I kindly (and sportingly) ignored my urge to scold her.

Once she'd finished eating (because we ran out of food), I sent her back upstairs to shower and get ready, while I dealt with the profusion of scattered, empty wrappers; and then with the multiple, red icing smudges from the Fat Cakes...

...which, thanks to her sticky fingers, now covered the tabletop like a violent rash...

...and then I headed upstairs for my backpack (rather than my handbag, since we were going shopping)...

...and to hurry Sam along.

A ten minute walk through the gray, misty morning haze landed us downtown...

...where our first stop was at my bank's ATM (just in case we needed cash for tonight anyway). After that, we headed to _Fischer's Florist_, where, after some discussion, Sam and I agreed on a huge bouquet of apricot roses for Mrs. Carlson, to show our appreciation. While paying, I requested that they be delivered to her office on Monday morning, and then we walked another two blocks, stopping at _Brock's Brothers,_ where we picked out a black, Venetian calfskin belt for Spencer. Minutes later, we stepped into _Somerset Jewelers_ (one of my watches needed a new battery).

Once it had been installed, and we'd had lunch at The Brittany Cafe (mushroom/Cheddar burgers), Sam pointed out that we didn't have to be home until 3:30, so we spent the next two hours wandering around down by piers at the Seattle Waterfront, drifting in and out of the shops and just enjoying each others' company. Sam looked far happier than I'd seen her in a very long while; and, all in all, it was a great afternoon...

...until we arrived back home.

The instant the elevator doors opened on Bushwell Plaza's eighth floor, Sam stuck her head out and looked carefully in both directions; and then, with a satisfied nod that indicated we were indeed alone, she took my left hand affectionately and walked up the hall with me.

As we stopped in front of my door, I reached toward my right-front pocket (and my keys), when suddenly, she grabbed both of my hands and whispered, "Wait!"

Before I could ask her what was wrong, she leaned in and kissed me.

Pulling back (two minutes later), I opened my eyes and asked, "Uh, what was that?"

"An emergency," she replied gravely.

"Sam, not _here_!" I hissed.

"Well, we can't_ inside_," she reminded me, "Spencer's in there."

"That's not what I meant...I was referring to...Freddie!" I whispered loudly.

"Oh yeah...I forgot," she replied, shooting a filthy glance in the direction of his door, before taking my hand and leading me several steps up the hall, just out of sight of his peephole...

...and then turning back to me with a triumphant smirk...

...while I looked deeply into her eyes...

...and melted. And then, either feeling confident or just not caring anymore, I wrapped my arms around her neck...

...and leaned in...

...and promptly felt at least a thousand volts of power stun and paralyze my body, as she began gently caressing my lips with her own...

...while her arms moved upward to my neck...

...and my hands moved downward, wrapping themselves around her waist, as I pulled her close to me...

...and then gave myself over, losing myself completely in the moment...

...with Sam's body and lips pressed against my own...

...feeling certain that nothing heaven had to offer me could possibly top this...

...and wishing with all my heart that the moment never had to end...

...because I was having way, _way_ too much fun...

...when suddenly, she gasped loudly.

Instinctively, I opened my eyes, to see her leaning to her left, and staring in open-mouthed disbelief...

...and turning, I followed her line of sight...

...which extended past my right shoulder...

...and over to Freddie's door...

...where I saw a flash of purple polo shirt, as he ducked inside and tried frantically to close it...

...but failed, as Sam jammed her foot inside...

...and then hurtled through it.

Seconds later, I recovered sufficiently from the shock and sprinted into the apartment after them...

...but it appeared to be completely empty...

...until, a moment later, I heard a loud banging sound coming from behind the door, followed by a_ very_ loud 'OW!" and, grabbing its knob, I quickly swung it away from the wall...

...to find the two of them behind it, and Sam holding onto the front of his shirt with both fists and yelling, "How dare you spy on us?"

"What's it to y-OW!" Freddie yelled again, as she slammed him against the wall again, his head bouncing off it a second time.

I grabbed her arm.

"Sam no!"

She ignored me.

"Sam...you _promised_!" I yelled again; and, at this reminder, she immediately let him go, letting her fists fall to her sides.

A second later, his right hand flew to the back of his head, and as he stood there rubbing it vigorously, he sneered, "Well, what's this, Sam? Does your wife have you pussy-whipped already?"

Anticipating a violent (_non-verbal_), retaliatory attack from Sam, I jumped between the two of them...but, as it turned out, there was no need. She just stood there fuming, as I continued to block Freddie with my body, hoping that they'd both just let the whole thing drop.

I hoped wrong.

Freddie, apparently, was only getting warmed up.

Glaring at Sam over my shoulder, he continued, "When I found out Carly's liked girls, I was hoping she meant human ones, not anima-OW! LET GO!" he yelled...

...as she agilely slid between my back and Freddie's front, and grabbed a fistful of his hair...

...but before she could swing him around in circles by it, I grabbed onto her wrist and somehow managed to pry her fingers free; and, with a cowardly yelp, Freddie jumped out of her reach, retreating quickly to the opposite side of the room, while I turned to Sam and grabbed onto both of her shoulders...

...and pushed her backward...

...trapping her firmly between my stomach and the wall. Before she could recover from her surprise and protest, I leaned forward and stated loudly, "Now, you listen to me! This is awful...and I want it to end!"

With an obliging and determined nod, she took a step sideways...

..and I tightened my grip on her shoulders, while shouting, "No! Not like that!"

She opened her mouth to argue...

...but I froze her with _The Look_, before continuing, much more softly, "You know as well as I do that Freddie's not the type to hold a grudge...so for him to act like this toward us, he must really be suffering...so we're going to let him get this off his chest._..right now_. You and I are both going to stand here, and we're going to listen to him...sympathetically; and then, no matter what's happened, and no matter whose fault it was, you and I are going to apologize...sincerely.

She shook her head violently...

...while I countered sternly, "Sam...have I ever asked much of you?"

Looking highly indignant, she opened her mouth again...

...but then I saw the change in her eyes...

...and the look on her face which confirmed that she realized I was right...

...and then, to my immense relief (but still with a look of extreme reluctance)...

...she shook her head slowly.

Immediately (before she had time to change her mind), I turned to Freddie, who was still cowering against the far wall.

"Freddie, will you please come here for a minute?"

Trying (and failing) to appear confident, he (tremblingly) swaggered across the room...

...and once he was standing fairly near us, yet still far away enough to avoid any sudden punches from Sam...

...he silently looked from me to Sam...

...and then back to me again...

...and I plunged right in.

"Look, Freddie, Sam and I know that you've been really upset lately...and we haven't really been very understanding about it..well, actually not at all. And that was really wrong; so now we both want to listen to whatever it is that you want to say to us.

His response surprised me.

Looking past my left shoulder and pointing an accusing finger at Sam, he yelled, "It's all her fault! She's ruined iCarly! Completely ruined it!"

"Wh-what do you mean?" I stuttered, stunned at this unexpected revelation.

"How can you even ask me that?" he demanded. "Have you forgotten already? We haven't done the show for more than a month now...and it's all because of her!"

I glanced quickly over my shoulder at Sam, whose face was currently unreadable..and then back to Freddie.

"Go on," I urged quietly.

"Why should I have to spell it out for you?" he snapped. "You're already well aware that she kissed me, more than once, and then, against my better judgment...I actually went out with her! And you saw how disastrously that ended...for all three of us! And that's why my mother has banned me from setting foot into your apartment again...indefinitely!"

Just when I thought that Sam was going to take no part whatsoever in this discussion, she (finally) answered, "Aw, your mom just overreacted...it didn't end _that __badly_! I mean, it's not like your jaw was actually _broken__!_ And you were out of the hospital later that same day!"

I shot a warning glance in her direction as she continued, "So I don't know why you're so ups-"

"Oh, yes you do!" he shot back at her. "You used me! You let me think that you were in love with me...not even considering _my_ feelings...just to use me as a front, because of all the negative comments we've been getting in our forums, from all the CAM haters!"

"Wait...what?" I asked...

...and he whipped his gaze from her to me.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" he retorted. "Last month alone, we counted over 2,000 horrible, hateful remarks...together...and I saw you reading a lot of them!"

Before I could even think of how I should reply to his rant, he continued, "Right after you told everyone at Webicom that I'm not dating you or Sam, that information went viral, and then the vicious, anti-gay remarks came pouring in, from people saying that I'm not dating either of you...because you're dating each other...and that they think it's disgusting! And that's when Sam started her plan to use me as a front, because she obviously was afraid we'd lose fans...if, no_ WHEN _they found out that you both really _are _a couple!"

"But...but...I...we-" I began...

...but he cut me off...taking a step closer and yelling over my shoulder, "Deny it, Sam...I **dare** you to deny it!"

Cringing in anticipation of her response, I turned my head...

...to see her stuff her balled-up fists into her pockets and stare down at her sneakers...

...and as I was trying to figure out the best way to apologize for this, he whipped his face back toward mine.

"And now I don't even have the show to look forward to anymore! I worked so hard on it, and you and Sam always get 90% of the credit for everything...and I've never complained about that...not once! iCarly was the only thing in my life that was actually going right! It was a chance to get out my apartment one night a week, and something that made me feel like I actually have some control over my own life! Like I'm actually accomplishing something...something I can be proud of! You have no idea how much that means, when you've lived your entire life under the tyranny of-"

He was too choked up to continue...

...and the tortured way in which he was explaining his unbearable pain touched me deeply...

...and reaching forward and laying a hand on his arm, I began, "Freddie, I can't begin to tell you how sorr-"...

...but shaking it off roughly, he somehow found his voice again and continued, "What's even worse is how my mom, without even telling me, updated my blog while I was at school, telling the _Entire Internet_ why we're not doing the show now...and how it's mainly because her 'little Freddie has zero chemistry with girls'...and because she 'fears for her little Freddie's safety'! You know as well as I do that I'll never be able to live down _that_ humiliation!"

"Freddie, I'm so sorry that all of this has hap-" I began again...

...when he interrupted me, shouting, "But even that's nothing..NOTHING, compared to what YOU did to me, Carly!"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than I felt Sam's body, which was still trapped between my back and the wall, stiffen and begin to shake with anticipatory rage; but somehow, she remained silent, as she waited for him to finish.

"What do you mean?" I asked...

...more than a little apprehensively.

"Don't play stupid," he snarled, "we both know that you did the exact same thing! You Used Me! When I got hit by the taco truck last year, you saw that as the perfect opportunity to pretend to be 'straight'...so the kids at school would stop calling you and Sam _'The Dyke Duo'_!"

"No! Freddie, it wasn't like that! Sam and I weren't even..._together_ back then!" I stated earnestly.

"Don't give me that!" he snapped. "I haven't filmed the show for the past five years without noticing how you two are always hanging all over each other! But what makes it even worse coming from _you_, Carly, is that you _**Know**_ how I've always felt about you...how deeply I've...for years now...and yet you _still _broke m-m...still u-used me!" he shouted, somewhat incoherently, before continuing...

...in a very unsteady voice, "And it wasn't just last year either! What about _last __month_, when you deliberatl-"

"N-no, Freddie!" I gasped. "I swear, it w-wasn't like th-"

"Oh, yes it was!" he insisted, tears now brimming in his eyes and threatening to spill down his cheeks. "That's why you were constantly kissing me in the hallways at school. You wanted to make sure that everyone 'knew' that you weren't actually a man-hating, chain-wallet-loving, no-good, carpet-munching-"

I have no idea how I suddenly ended up standing five feet away from Freddie and Sam...

...only that her arms were a blur as they left mine and then slammed sideways and upwards, into the front of his throat, forcing him up against the wall again, as she yelled, "Shut up! Just shut up! You need to accept the fact that Carly will _never_ _really_ love you, but maybe...just maybe...some other girls _would_ actually go out with you, if you weren't always acting like such a whiny, sniveling, jerk-wad! I don't feel the least bit sorry for you, Freddie! You deserve every single thing that's hap-"

"I'm not shutting up!" he gasped, his face now the same shade of purple as his shirt, as he struggled (unsuccessfully) to remove her forearms from his throat, while adding, "And, instead of trying to make me, why don't you go wrap your carpet-munching mouth around a-"

"Don't you DARE tell me what to do!" she shouted back...

...in a voice so ominous that I knew what was coming next...

...and I tore over to where they stood, running up behind Sam and clapping my left hand over her mouth, just as she yelled, "I hate you! I hate you so much...that I wish you were mmph!"

Stunned at my unexpected intervention from behind, she inadvertently dropped her arms...

...and, wrapping my right arm tightly around her waist...

...I yanked her backwards.

I'm not going attempt to fool myself (or you) by pretending that I could _ever_ overpower Sam. The only reason I was able to successfully out-maneuver her at that particular moment was because, when I pulled her backwards, she was thrown off balance...

...and as a result, only the heels of her sneakers were in contact with the surface of Freddie's hardwood floor...

...so I easily dragged her out into the hall...

...sighing in relief as I heard him slam the door behind us.

Without giving her time to protest, I quickly unwrapped my right arm from her body, pulled my keys out, unlocked my front door, and then half-pushed/half-pulled her inside...

...causing us both to crash directly into Spencer who, in just his T-shirt and boxers...and with damp hair...was folding up our ironing board.

"Sorry!" I gasped, grabbing his arm to regain my balance.

With an understanding nod, he waited until I found my footing, and then dragged the board over to the closet, flung it inside, and shut the door...

...as I let go of Sam completely and began rummaging around in my backpack, finally pulling out the small _Brock's Brothers_ bag and holding it out to him.

He took it from my hand and then bent down, picking up his charcoal gray suit and dress shirt, both carefully pressed, which were draped neatly over the back of the living room chair.

"Thanks again for the belt," he said quickly, not even opening the bag. "I'm sure whatever you picked out will be fine; and I'm sorry I can't chat right now, but they're going to be here in twenty minutes!"

"They?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes. Socko's picking them up at the airport and then coming here, so he can introduce me, before we all head over to the restaurant."

"Okay, Sam and I will be upstairs," I stated, grabbing her arm and dragging her toward the elevator...

...with her eyes still boring straight through my front door...

...and through the one across the hall as well.

Our first stop was the bathroom (we had a long ride ahead of us), and while we were there, (despite Sam's protests) I made sure we_ both_ washed our hands and faces.

As we entered my bedroom, she immediately walked across it and looked out the window.

"Aw, the sky is turning even darker. I hope we're not gonna get rained on!"

"We're going to be inside the main tent," I pointed out tersely, fighting the urge to tell her off for what had just transpired across the hall.

"Yeah," she acknowledged, "but if there's time afterward, I wanted to walk around and look at the side shows and other exhibits."

"Well, since it might rain, I was planning to wear my London Smog windbreaker...it's water resistant," I announced, while looking down at the gray zip-up hooded sweatshirt that she was wearing. "I"m sorry I don't have an extra one for you, though."

That's okay," she replied, "I'm wash and wear...hey wait a minute!"

Before I could ask what she had in mind, she tore out of the room; but was back less than five minutes later...

...holding the vintage, long khaki trench coat that she'd just pulled from our studio's Wardrobe Closet. About six months ago, while we were out for a stroll, Sam had spotted it in a thrift shop window...

...and it had given her the idea for our infamous 'Seattle Spy' skit; and, since the thing had only cost twelve dollars, we'd bought it.

"I'll take this with me...just in case," she announced. "It's a rain coat."

I nodded, watching as she opened her backpack and tossed six or seven items out of it to make room...

...sending them flying casually and carelessly around the room...

...and then rolled the coat up and stuffed it inside her bag. As she zipped it shut, I turned to my mirror and began brushing my hair...

...which had become rather messy during our 'brawl in the hall'...

...now barely able to continue to conceal my ire at what she'd just almost done to Freddie.

Once it looked presentable, and while still facing the mirror, I shifted my gaze to the right, to see Sam, still over by my bed, staring at my reflection...

...and easily reading my expression.

"Aw c'mon, Carls! Don't tell me you're still mad about-"

I spun around to face her.

"Hey, I have every right to be upset with you! After what's happened over the past few days, you _know_ how dangerous wishes can be!"

"That's not true," she scoffed, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "What happened to us was only some kind of...weird..._fluke_."

"Oh, no it wasn't!" I shot back, shocked at her cavalier attitude, especially after all we'd just been through. "Have you forgotten what almost happened to us?"

She shrugged dismissively.

"Nothing almost happened...so you're getting all bent out of shape...over nothing."

"Oh, no I'm not!" I answered hotly. "You _know_ you can't just go around wishing for-"

"Cupcake, that's not true," she insisted (infuriatingly). "Wishing is no big deal...here, I'll prove it to you...I wish...

(Hearing this, with my heart in my throat, I flung my hairbrush down and spun around...

...but before I was even halfway across the room, the rest of the words were out.)

..."that Spencer had a new Mercedes!"

"What did I tell you about wishing!" I yelled, quickly closing the distance between us, grabbing her upper arms, and giving her a shake.

"Aw, you never said that we could never wish again...you only said that we 'have to be really careful what we wish for from now on'!" she repeated (accurately).

I opened my mouth to protest...

...but she held her hand up.

"Look, Carls, I'm only doing this to prove a point...that wishing is bogus. And besides, even if this one did come true, you told me that Oswell said we should wish for others, not for ourselves...and I just did. Think about it, how many times has Spencer said he wants a car?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but she was on a roll

"...and you know that Mercedes is his favorite kind. _And_ I'm not even wishing for myself...I promise you, I'm not going to ask him to drive me anywhere! So see? I'm not wishing for myself...I'm wishing for Spencer...for something that will make him really happy.

I opened my mouth yet again...

...but after less than five seconds' reflection, I closed it again.

She was right...about everything...and realizing that I was incapable of staying mad at her, I conceded, "Okay, Sam. I guess it's okay, since you're wishing for a new Mercedes...to make Spencer really happy."

With a satisfied smile, she leaned forward and kissed me quickly; and then, before I could recover from my surprise and kiss her back, she grabbed her backpack off the bed, shouldered it, and left the room...

...and, two steps behind, I followed her out the door...through the hallway...and down the stairs...

...to see a tall, well-dressed, dark-haired man, who was shaking Spencer's hand.

"Andrew Nielsen, nice to meet you," he stated with a smile...

...before gesturing to the very pretty woman who was standing next to him...

...looking absolutely stunning in a black cocktail dress.

"And this is my wife, Mercedes."


	9. Chapter 9

I thank God that Sam was only four steps up from the bottom of our staircase.

I also thank Him for giving her that extra layer of padding on her butt...

...because she landed on it pretty hard.

Mercedes Neilsen gasped, looking over at the stairs from under her auburn bangs and dropping Spencer's hand, a second after she'd grasped it...

...and less than a minute later, all five of us had converged in a circle around Sam, who lay sprawled on the floor.

Ignoring our ten outstretched arms, she scrambled, blushing, to her feet.

"I'm f-fine," she assured us, although visibly shaken...

...while rubbing her obviously aching butt.

"Are you sure, Sam?" Socko asked, and after she'd insisted that she was, Spencer turned to the Nielsens.

"Anyway, Andrew, Mercedes...this is my sister, Carly," he announced.

I shook their hands.

"And _this_...well, this is Our Sam!" he added with a smile, laying an affectionate hand on top of her head.

Sam stopped rubbing her sore butt long enough to shake hands with the Nielsens, still looking more than a little embarrassed.

"Nice tie, Socko!" she blurted out, obviously eager to redirect everyone's attention away from herself.

"Thanks, it was a Christmas gift from Tyler" was his answer...

...which was followed by a long, awkward silence...during which we all stared at our feet and/or each other.

"Well," Spencer (finally) said, "our reservations aren't for another hour, so can I offer anyone a drink?"

"No, nothing for me, thanks," Socko spoke up immediately.

Spencer turned to Mrs. Nielsen.

"Mercedes?"

"Oh, no, thank you...but would you mind telling me where you bought that?" she asked, gesturing across the room...

...toward Spencer's _Bottle Bot_.

With a slightly self-conscious smile, he walked over to it, asking, "You mean this?" When she nodded, he continued, "Actually, I made it myself."

Mercedes joined him on the other side of the room; and then, smiling appreciatively, she walked around his sculpture several times, examining it from all angles.

"What a charming piece...so fresh and inventive!" she exclaimed, before calling across the room, "Socko, you never told me that Spencer's an artist!"

"Yes, he is actually...and a damned good one at that," he replied loyally.

Upon hearing this, she turned back to Spencer and asked, "Do you have any other examples of your work here at home...or are they all on exhibit somewhere?"

At the suggestion that his work might be on display at some gallery or other, Spencer smiled sadly, but only for a moment, before managing to conceal his disappointment rather well, and replying, "Actually, I have about twelve smaller items, but they're in boxes, in the upstairs storage closet; along with my portfolio of a few commissioned pieces I've sold. I'd be happy to show you, if you'd like."

Mrs. Nielsen turned in the direction of her husband, who was now sitting on the couch, next to Socko, deep in conversation.

"Andrew?"

"No, dear, go on ahead," he answered over his shoulder, before resuming his discussion with Socko...

...while Spencer and Mrs. Nielsen promptly disappeared upstairs.

Barely able to contain my excitement over the upcoming evening...and slightly anxious for it to begin...I began wandering nervously around my living room, looking for a way to kill time until our ride arrived...

...soon finding one on our coffee table...

...and, picking up the afternoon's unusually large mail delivery, I took it over to the kitchen counter and began to sort it. Near the bottom of the tall stack of bills and other correspondence was a _Porcelain Barn_ catalog; and, just as I had settled onto a bar stool and begun to page through it...

...my phone rang. After a short conversation, I hung up...

...and then walked into the kitchen, and over to Sam...

...who was standing with her head buried deep inside the fridge.

"Uh, it's time to wrap up whatever you're doing in there," I informed her, "because Wendy just called. "They're going to be here in less than ten minutes, so we'd better get downstairs."

A moment later, Sam emerged...

...with a large, half-eaten eclair between her teeth...

...and (as usual) with sticky hands and face.

Within thirty seconds, the rest of the eclair had disappeared, and I pulled her over to the sink for a fast clean-up; and then, after we'd grabbed our backpacks off the counter, I walked over to the couch.

"Excuse me, Socko?"

As he turned away from Mr. Nielsen and looked up at me, I continued, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but when Spencer comes back down would you please tell him that we've left?"

"Of course," he replied. "He mentioned that you two are going to the circus. Have a great night."

"Oh, we will!" I assured him, before looking over at Mr. Nielsen and adding, "It was really nice meeting you...and I hope you and Mrs. Nielsen enjoy your stay in Seattle."

"Thank you," he answered, with a sincere smile, "but it's going to be a short one. We're leaving late tomorrow evening. I hope you enjoy your night out, as well," he added; and then, with a last, friendly nod, he turned back to Socko...

...and, in our eagerness to be on our way, Sam and I practically tore out the front door...

...smiling manically as we took the elevator downstairs...

...but then, as its doors opened, we turned to each other...

...obviously thinking the same (highly unpleasant) thought...

_...and then..._

...both of us cringing with dread...

...we stepped out and began to cross the lobby...

...as surreptitiously as possible...

...but, unfortunately, when we were less than ten feet from the door, Lewbert noticed.

"Only one bag each?" he screamed, eying our backpacks. "Damn! I was hoping you two were leaving for good this time!"

"Shut it, Lew-ser!" Sam shot back over her shoulder. "You really should sue your brain for non-support!"

"Oh no! Time to call the exterminator again! The pests are back!" he shrieked, pointing to us with both hands, so the five or six people milling around the lobby would know exactly what he was referring to.

Naturally, Sam wasn't about to let this observation go unanswered.

"If they_ are _back, then the first place that needs to be sprayed is your hair...followed by your underwear!" she shouted...

...sounding way past annoyed...

...as she turned around and took a menacing step toward the desk where he sat.

"So, Sam, where do you think Mrs. Carlson is going to take us for dinner?" I asked...

...immediately and loudly.

At the mention of food, she stopped dead in her tracks...

...and, after less than a minute's (tormented) internal struggle, she promptly did another about-face, back toward me...

...and then, while muttering something over her shoulder about 'getting even with him later', she followed me through the revolving door and out into damp, overcast, late afternoon Seattle.

Mrs. Carlson and Wendy were waiting.

A short time later, once we'd left the city behind and were heading East on the I-90, Sam leaned forward, toward the front seats, and exclaimed, "Mrs. Carlson, this SUV is incredible...it's got killer suspension!"

"Why, thank you, Sam...it's nice of you to say so," she replied, glancing back at us momentarily, via the rear-view mirror.

I smiled. Leave it to Sam to notice something like that. I myself don't pay much attention to cars and their various features; but then, as I sank farther into the British Tan leather upholstery, I noticed what she meant. It was indeed one even ride, especially noticeable when we drove over some of the rougher patches of road.

Since Sam and I were Mrs. Carlson's guests, we let her direct the conversation; and initially, it centered on her wanting to catch up with the two of us, on what we had been doing at school, etc., since she'd seen us last. Fortunately, she didn't actually ask what was happening with iCarly...

...because I wouldn't have had any idea how to answer her...

...and I think Sam sensed that the conversation was beginning to veer in that direction, because she soon changed the subject, asking Wendy what her summer plans were going to be. (It turns out she was angling for an internship at the huge ad agency where her mom is employed, doing some kind of administrative work in their Human Resources office.)

After that, talk turned to the circus...

...and Sam had a hundred and one questions...

...none of which any of us could answer; and so we told her that she'd just have to wait and see...

...an answer which, to my surprise, she accepted graciously, sitting in polite silence as we drove on...

...even though, judging from the expression on her face, she was about to burst with anticipation.

About fifteen minutes later, Mrs. Carlson pulled off the highway and made a short detour, toward Easton, explaining that we were having dinner at a nearby _Salad City_, because that restaurant offered such fast service.

Her suggestion was fine with Sam and me; and nearly an hour later, after we'd enjoyed four Chicken Caesar Salads, and five servings of Chocolate Mousse (guess who had seconds), we were back on the road toward Bristol...

...arriving about half an hour later, and locating the circus grounds without incident.

Locating a parking space, however, turned out to be a minor nightmare; but eventually, we found our way (with just ten minutes to spare) into the Main Tent. The bleachers were already pretty crowded, but finally, after circling over to the far side of the ring, we found four seats that were close together; with Wendy and her mom taking the two lower spots, while Sam and I sat above them, one tier up...

...and then, less than three minutes later...

...with a loud and elaborate fanfare of trumpets...

...the circus began.

I wish I could give you a detailed, minute-by-minute account of the entire show...

...and a long, comprehensive description of each and every act...but I can't...

...because I could barely take my eyes off Sam...

...who sat, with her own eyes darting back and forth between the numerous acts, going on simultaneously in the show's three rings...

...while wearing an expression that can only be described as _rapturous_.

Here's what I do remember though:

At some point, there was a very impressive aerial act...on motorcycles(!)...

...which was followed by a troupe of the most violent clowns I've ever seen. There were eight or nine of them, and were really beating the crap out of each other...

...using assorted, huge, blunt objects...

...and, in my opinion, Sam seemed to be enjoying that act just a little too much. (I had a sneaking suspicion that she was taking mental notes for new torture techniques to use on Freddie; but, after all, it was _her_ night, and so, not wanting to spoil it for her in any way, I said nothing.)

The clowns were followed by a performance of trained tigers...

...after which, we saw a rather impressive trio of Globe Rollers...

...who were followed by a Dancing Elephants act...

...and then we watched a very unusual display of suspended juggling.

After about ninety minutes, the show ended; and, once the crowd had thinned out somewhat, we climbed down from our seats and began heading toward the front of the tent. Less than ten feet from its crowded exit, Mrs. Carlson ran (unexpectedly) into her boss, who was out for the evening with his wife and kids; and Sam and I stood nearby in polite silence as Mrs. C. introduced Wendy, informing Mr. Montgomery that she had applied for a summer internship position at their firm. Upon hearing this, he asked Wendy if she could spare a few minutes right then to talk.

She looked over at her mother questioningly, and Mrs. C. nodded, and then turned to Sam and me, saying, "This could take a little while, so why don't you girls go have a look around on your own? We'll meet you back at the car at 10:45."

Needing no further incentive, Sam eagerly left the tent. I followed her out, and then, after telling her to lead the way and go wherever she liked, I fell in beside her and we began wandering around the vast grounds. For some reason, she insisted on glancing into every single one of the smaller tents we passed, even the ones that were obviously deserted. I had a feeling that she was looking for Anton Oswell, (although I'm not sure why), but not wanting to mention anything that might upset her/spoil her evening, I didn't ask...in case I was wrong.

The majority of the tents we stopped at housed circus sideshows, and the first one had a huge banner over its entrance...

...bearing the word *FREAKS*...

...which, in my opinion, is rather rude...after all, these _are_ people...with _feelings._

Anyway, as we entered, I turned to Sam and whispered sternly, "Listen...I don't want to hear a single 'witty' remark from you...no matter _what_ they look li-"

Before I'd even finished the sentence, she turned to me...

...wearing a disbelieving, genuinely hurt expression...

...and, regretting that I'd been so presumptuous and scolded her for no reason, I threw my always-closely-guarded protocol to the wind, and leaned over and kissed her cheek...

...lingeringly. Pulling back, I saw the way she was looking at me...

...with an 'I-love-you-for-that-and-forgive-you-completely-because-of-it' smile...

...and then I knew that everything was okay.

After we'd spent the next ten minutes making the acquaintance of Yuviry the Bearded Lady...

...Cynthia the Four-Foot Troll...

...Rebecca the Ferret-Faced Girl...

...and last (but certainly not least), Evelyn the Human Toad...

...we left the tent...

...with Sam casting a final backward glance over her shoulder.

"Still way more attractive than Ms. Briggs...every single one of them," she observed.

During the next half hour, we stepped into several other tents, watching an exhibition of sword swallowing, a man lying on a bed of nails, and a contortionist...who, among his other talents, could turn his head around completely. After I'd rejected her suggestion that we ask the last guy if he'd be willing to appear on iCarly, we walked into the last sideshow in the row...

...which featured and Escape Artist...

...and, after he'd successfully released himself from a leather straight jacket, a padlocked milk can full of water, a bank vault, and an Iron Maiden full of nails, Sam insisted on going up to the stage to get his autograph...

..._and_ a few suggestions on how to escape from a triple-locked, highly-guarded classroom when you have detention.

Upon hearing her request, he smiled broadly; and, crouching in front of us...

...he reached down, put a hand on Sam's shoulder, and pulled her closer to him...

...and then bent forward and whispered something in her ear...

...and her jaw dropped as her face lit up.

"Brilliant! Why didn't I ever think of that?" she exclaimed...

...staring up at him with an expression that was equal parts awe and gratitude...

...and, after she'd shaken his hand appreciatively, we left the tent...

...with her wearing an incredibly devilish smirk.

(To this day, she still won't reveal what he told her, even though...God knows...I've tried!)

Eventually, on the far side of the grounds, we came upon the *_Souvenirs*_tent.

Sam stopped in front of it, staring wistfully, and then walked on; but even though she'd only looked for a second or two...

...it was long enough for me to have noticed...

...and reaching forward and taking her by the arm, I gently turned her around and steered her inside...

...where, despite her half-hearted 'protests', I bought her a (very overpriced) Jingling Bros. T-shirt...because I wanted her to have a tangible reminder of the night.

And then, as we waited in line near the register, her expression suddenly changed...

...twice...

...first, to one of deep contemplation...

...and then, after a minute or so, to one of noble determination...

...and, before I could ask what was on her mind, she shrugged her backpack off and began digging inside it resolutely...

...eventually pulling out, from its deepest depths, a well-worn and badly-crumpled ten dollar bill...

...and the instant I saw it in her hand, I wanted to throw my arms around her (even though we were surrounded by at least twenty other people)...

...and tell her how much I loved her for what she was about to do...

...but, not wanting to make a scene, I said nothing...

...as she picked out a brass Jingling Bros. fob...

..._for __**my**__ keys_...

...one which featured a colorful, enameled disk of a tiger jumping through a hoop of fire.

For my perpetually-hungry Sam to part with her 'Emergency Ten', was so incredibly touching; and I knew that it meant she really, really wanted me to have the key fob...

...so I didn't dare insult her by refusing.

Just outside the tent's entrance, she pulled me aside, and handed it to me...

...without a word...

...while looking up at me shyly from under her wind-tousled blonde bangs...

...and, overcome by her generosity, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to her forehead...

...gasping slightly as she reached down and took my right hand between both of her own.

And right then, I wanted to put my arms around her and hold her so close to me...

...for such a long time...

...and to tell her _So Many Things_...

...but I knew I didn't dare, not in such a crowded public place...

...and so instead, with a quiet sigh, I straightened up, feeling a deep twinge of regret...

...somewhere over on the left side of my chest...

...as she let go of my hand, and we walked on.

About thirty feet farther up the Midway, Sam stopped dead in her tracks...

...and began sniffing the air...

...soon zeroing in on her quarry as she pivoted in the direction of a nearby Concession Stand...

...and, knowing from past experience that she could only be expected to get limited mileage from a salad...and therefore, must be ravenously hungry...

...I parked her at a nearby, deserted picnic table, and then walked up to the food trailer...

...soon returning with two orders of hot dogs & fries, two lemonades, and a couple of huge Italian Water Ices (raspberry for her, lime for me).

As expected, Sam tore into her snack while I sat, quietly and happily, watching her; and once we'd finished eating, I fished my keys from the right-front pocket of my jeans and began to transfer them from their cheap, hardware store ring, onto my new fob, soon looking up...

...to see Sam staring at me closely...

...wearing the brattiest smile I'd ever witnessed...

...as she struggled to hold her laughter in.

"What's so funny?" I demanded.

"Your green mouth," she replied. "I was just wondering if you've been kissing Lewbert...because it looks like you have _Syphil-lips_!"

Incredibly disappointed that she wasn't standing up...

...so I could smack her butt properly...

...I settled for grabbing/biting her right hand instead...

...which, unfortunately, she seemed to really enjoy.

After shooting her a threatening, 'Just-wait-until-later-when-there-are-no-witnesses' look, I glanced at my watch; wanting to make sure we didn't inconvenience Mrs. C. (especially since the following day was Monday; and, therefore, a work day for her)...

...and so, as directed, we met her and Wendy by the car, promptly at 10:45. After bucking some brutal parking lot traffic, we eventually found ourselves back on the highway...

...and I soon leaned up toward the front seat and asked Wendy, "So, how did it go? Did he offer you a job?"

Not yet," she replied, "but I think it went pretty well. Mr. Montgomery said that the company is still accepting applications, but he did schedule me for an interview in two weeks, so both of you please keep your fingers crossed for me."

"Will do," Sam replied. "I really hope it works out for you, Wendy; they'd be so lucky to have you working there," she added...

...in the most sincere and heart-warming way...

...and at that moment, I wanted desperately to reach over and hold her hand, but I wasn't about to be disrespectful and do it in front of Mrs. C...

...not after she'd just been so generous to us...

...and so, with a quiet sigh, I leaned back against the seat and sneaked a longing glance over at Sam instead.

"You know, it was really nice of you to say that to Wendy," I told her...

...while barely suppressing a yawn.

Eyes still on the road, Mrs. C remarked, "You sound tired, Dear."

"No, I'm fine," I replied.

"Are you sure about that? I can hear it in your voice...were you up early this morning?" she asked.

"Yes," I admitted. "I had a lot of errands to run."

At this, Mrs. C. nodded understandingly, suggesting, "Well then, why don't you take a nap?"

"Oh, no, really...I'm okay," I insisted...

...not altogether honestly...

...because, truth be told, it _had_ been a long day, and I really was beginning to feel beat.

"It's fine, we don't mind," Mrs. C. replied. "I know that you think falling asleep would be rude; but even though it's dark in here, I see that you can barely keep your eyes open. Sam, you don't mind if Carly stretches out back there, do you?"

"No, of course not," she replied, turning to me with a smile...

...and gesturing to her lap with both hands.

I only hesitated for a moment, before nodding...

...and then, kicking my shoes off (I'd been tramping around on an unpaved, gravel-covered lot), I lay down on my right side, stretching out across the full width of the seat, with my head on Sam's lap and my right cheek resting against her khaki-covered right thigh; pulling my knees up slightly toward my chest, just far enough so I'd fit.

Earlier, when we'd piled into the car and closed the doors, Wendy's mom had mentioned that it seemed a bit stuffy inside, and had lowered all the windows about halfway, for some fresh air...

...which, due to it being an April evening, was rather damp and cold...

...and, despite the welcome warmth which radiated from Sam's body, I shivered.

Sam felt it, and leaning down, she asked, in a voice just above a whisper, "Are you cold?"

"A little," I replied...

...and moments later, with a nod, she leaned down and to her left...

...down to the backpack lying near her feet...

...while I watched, puzzled...

...while she unzipped it and reached inside.

And then, I smiled broadly...

...as she pulled out the long trench coat she'd brought along but hadn't needed (the weather had held the entire time we were at the circus). After a bit of fumbling, she managed to unroll it completely...

...and then carefully covered me with it...

...from my shoulders, all the way down to my feet; wrapping me in it as tenderly as if I'd been a baby.

And then, feeling much warmer...and so incredibly loved...I snuggled down more comfortably on her lap...

...sighing contentedly...

...sure that I couldn't possibly feel more blissfully secure than I did at that moment.

I was wrong.

Less than a minute later, Sam's right hand carefully slid sideways between her stomach and the back of my head...

…and I felt her fingers twining themselves in my hair...

...but I'd only managed to enjoy that lovely sensation for a moment or two...

...when I realized that her left hand had moved under the trench coat...

...hesitating on my left hip for a few seconds, before sliding forward and off it...

...and then moving down farther, coming to rest against my lower abdomen.

As it did, I nodded, silently letting her know that it was fine for her to let her hand lie there...

...but, apparently, she had other ideas...

...because, seconds later, I felt her fingers fumbling with the button of my jeans...

...before opening it successfully...

...and then moving lower...

...to my zipper.

And, as she tugged it down, I began to shake my head from side to side on her lap...

...vigorously...

...suddenly afraid of what might happen next...

...and determined not to engage in any sort of lewd activity...not in here...

...not in front of our hosts...

...but, at that moment, her right hand left my hair, and came to rest on the left side of my head...

...as she stopped me from shaking it...

...and then began to stroke my cheek gently...

...letting me know that there was no reason for me to worry...

...and then, as I lay holding my breath...

...with no idea what she was going to do to me...

...she hooked her fingers into the back of the waistband of my jeans...

...slowly pulling them away from my backside, and downward, as far as she could...

...until they were about halfway down my hips...

...and, after hesitating for a long moment...

...she slid her hand down inside...

...and, seconds later, I could feel the warmth of her palm through my panties...

...as she began to caress my backside slowly...not in a seductive way, but in a very loving and very comforting one...

...and I began to breathe again.

And, as I felt her hand slipping over the white silk...

...fondling first my left cheek, and then my right...

...stopping occasionally to cup each one in her palm and squeeze it ever-so-slightly...

...I turned my head to the left and looked up...

...to see her smiling down at me, with the most loving expression on her face...

...one which said so many things...without any words whatsoever.

And, unable to look into her adoring eyes any longer without crying, I turned away to face forward again...

...and, as I felt the fingers of her right hand tangling in my hair again...

...I heard the slightest of tapping sounds on the roof.

It had started to rain...

...but I didn't care...

...because I was lying, curled up...and covered up...with my Sam...

...safe and warm, in the SUV's cozy backseat...

...surrounded by the faint glow emanating from the dashboard, the only light inside the vehicle...

...and by the murmur of Wendy's and Mrs. Carlson's voices from the front seat, as they talked quietly between themselves...

...and by the faint, fresh scent from the pine trees that lined the I-90, wafting in through the windows...

...and, suddenly realizing how tired I was, and how inviting my surroundings were...

...I closed my eyes...

...aware only of Sam's left hand, and the endless patterns it was tracing on my backside, as it slipped easily, over and across my silk panties...

...without stopping...

...communicating so clearly how happy she was...

...how happy **_I_** had made her...

...the knowledge of which filled me with indescribable joy.

I had done it.

I had pulled it off...giving her the birthday that she'd always dreamed of...

...one that she would never forget. And that made me so happy...

...and so determined to do my best to continue trying to make her happy...

...wondering and hoping ...that I'd be...able to...make her...this...happy...alwayz-z-z-z...

April 12th:

"Cupcake, you're home," I barely heard her say...

...but I kept my eyes closed, shaking my head in protest, not wanting this lovely dream to end...

...not wanting to emerge from the warm, safe cocoon of her lap...

...not wanting to lift my cheek from the firm, yet soft soft pillow of her khaki-covered thighs...

...especially since I could hear how much harder it was raining now.

"Come on, time to get up...you can go straight to bed once you're inside," she pointed out...

...pressing her fingertips into my right butt cheek and giving it a little shake...

...and at that, my eyes flew open...

...as I realized that, at some point during my nap, her hand had slipped inside my panties...

...and was now resting directly against my bare backside.

Still, I shook my head again...

...just as stubbornly...

...until she moved her hand up to my left butt cheek...

...and tickled it...

...and, gasping, I almost jumped up...

...until, realizing that my jeans were wide open and pulled down partway, I rolled over onto my back on Sam's lap to fix them, doing my best to pull them up and zip them shut without causing the trench coat that covered me to ripple too tellingly...

...but as it turns out, I needn't have worried...

...because Mrs. Carlson and Wendy weren't even watching. They were too busy leaning forward and staring out the wet front windshield, at something that was going on in the parking lot.

Turning my face upward again, I looked at Sam...

...who was still looking down at me, with a contented, loving smile...

...one which warmed my heart tremendously...and, at that moment, I wanted nothing more than for her to wrap her arms around me and to hold me close...

...but I was still well aware that it would be rude for her to do it in the back seat of Mrs. C's SUV.

But then, somehow, Sam read my mind; and, leaning forward, she lowered her head, presumably to look out the front windshield...

...as she slid her arms under the trench coat which still lay across her lap, covering me...

...and then, undetectably, and to my utter joy...

...she wrapped her arms around my body and carefully pulled me up against her...

...and, as she held me in her arms, I pressed my left cheek against the warm softness of her upper chest...

...and snaked my hands around her waist, just over her hips, and lay there, speechless with joy, while she peered as best she could through the rain-streaked front windshield...

...and out through the darkness of Bushwell Plaza's parking lot, as she asked, "What do you think is going on up there?"

"I'm not sure, because there are three other cars ahead of us," Wendy answered, "but it looks like a fender bender, in front of the building's entrance. I also see a patrol car, two cops, and that crazy doorman who works the front desk waving his arms and screaming."

From where I lay I couldn't see anything, and so I strained my ears out of curiosity; but since Mrs. C. had closed the windows, presumably to keep the rain out, all I could hear was the low hum of the motor.

"We could just get out here," I offered...

...even though the last thing I wanted was for Sam to let go of me.

"No, stay in the car for a minute," Mrs. C. directed. "It's raining pretty hard, so I'll get you a bit closer to the entrance." Shifting her gaze to the rear-view mirror, she asked, "And where do you live, Sam?"

"Oh, actually, I'll be getting out with Carly," she replied, still looking out the front windshield, while tightening her arms around me(!) and saying, "Knowing Lewbert, this could take awhile, and it's not that far...and it's almost two in the morning, so we'll just get out here and run inside."

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Mrs. C. asked.

"Positive," she assured her; and, as her arms released me, I sat up...

...feeling rested, yet reluctant...

...watching in disappointment as she rolled the trench coat up and stuffed it back into her bag.

We both got out of the car and, ignoring the rain, Sam stopped in front of the driver's side window, which Mrs. C. had lowered.

Extending her hand, she said, very politely, "Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Carlson...and for the show...and dinner, and...everything. I had a really nice time."

"You're very welcome, Dear."

Mrs. C. turned to me; and, after I'd thanked her just as sincerely, and said goodnight to both her and Wendy, Sam and I made a mad dash for Bushwell Plaza's front entrance...

...where a small group of people had now gathered...

...which aided us in successfully managing to sneak, unnoticed, past Lewbert...

...who was still waving his arms and screaming at everyone within listening distance.

Once inside, about halfway across the lobby, Sam suddenly grabbed my arm.

When I looked over at her, alarmed, she gasped, "Do you hear that?"

I strained my ears at the complete silence.

"No."

She turned to me with a broad smile.

"Exactly!" she exclaimed...

...and smiling back, appreciative of the rare peace and quiet, I followed her to the elevator.

After a short ride, its doors opened...

...on the_ Tenth_ Floor...

...and Sam led me out into the hall.

"Uh, what are we doing up here?" I asked. "Did you push the wrong but-"

"Shh!" she answered, holding up her hand, lowering her head, and straining her ears again.

I listened too...

...as hard as I could...

...but there was no sound of voices...

...and no hum of music...

...and no drone of TV sets.

Everyone on the Tenth Floor had gone to bed.

I love two a.m. on Sunday mornings!

Seconds later, Sam turned to me, wearing a very serious expression.

"We're taking absolutely no chances this time," she announced...

...and, realizing that meant she wanted to say goodbye to me...in a Freddie-free zone...I took a step forward...

...feeling my heart give a lurch as she wrapped her arms around my lower back. My arms snaked around her neck in response...

...and then, as her lips found mine...

...and she pulled me even closer to her...

...I felt nothing else.

Since we were completely alone, we took our time saying goodbye...

...and, after less than five minutes of being kissed by Sam, I found myself trembling...

...but not from any chill in the air.

It was shortly after she had opened her mouth...

...and I had followed suit...

...that I soon...and suddenly...realized that I could feel how hard my heart was beating...

...not in my chest...

...but in a very specific place down in the lower half of my body...

...but I had only contemplated that mystery for a few seconds...

...when, as she continued to explore my mouth with her own, I felt an incredibly sharp contraction between my legs.

Gasping at its intensity, I grabbed onto Sam tightly, to steady myself...

...and then, after a long moment's hesitation...

...I tilted my head back...

...and her lips found my neck...

...and suddenly, all I could think about was how she'd touched me in the car.

It had been so innocent...

...and, since I had been so tired out then, not to mention too scared to be intimate with her in front of Mrs. C. and Wendy, I had accepted it as such...

...but now the memory of it was making me feel...

...different...

...and all I could think about was how badly I wanted her to touch me again...

...in the same way.

And so, with her lips still softly caressing my neck...

...my hands slid from her shoulders...

...down to the front of my jeans...

...which I opened with trembling hands.

And then, I reached around my body...

...to where her hands rested, on my lower back...

...and, taking hold of her wrists...

...I moved her hands inside the back of my jeans.

And, as they slid downward...

...gliding effortlessly over my silk-covered backside...

...the sensation caused me to have a second, sharp contraction...

...and suddenly, I was scared...

...because, even though I knew that I still wasn't ready to go all the way with Sam yet...

...what I was experiencing between my legs felt so incredible...

...that all I could think about is how badly I wanted to feel it again...

...right now...

...and, with a gasp, I pressed my now-gently-throbbing pelvis forward, until it was resting against hers.

"No, Cupcake...not here," she murmured, as her lips left my neck.

"Please? Just for a little while?"

She hesitated for a long moment.

"I...can't."

"But, it feels so nice...please, just...a little?" I repeated...

...but she shook her head...

...and, suppressing the sudden urge to cry, both from her refusal to continue...

...and from my confusion as to how I felt about what I wanted...

...I threw my arms around her neck and held onto her as tightly as I could.

"Carls? What's wrong?"

I shook my head.

"Carls?"

"S-sam...I...w-want..." I began...

...but then stopped abruptly...

...because I had no idea how to put my feelings into words.

Nearly a minute passed, and then she asked, tentatively, "Can you tell me about it?"

I hesitated.

How could I possibly explain how I felt right then? How I still wasn't ready for it...

...but how incredible she was making me feel...

...and how badly I wanted her to _keep making me_ have contractions...

...not here, in the hallway...

...but downstairs, in my bed, with her hands on my backside...

...after I had let her undress me...but only down to my panties...

...and to keep feeling the way her hands moved over their slippery surface...

...and to keep feeling what I was feeling between my legs...

...wanting so badly for her to touch me that way...

...but not to go any further...

...but to keep doing it, until she had helped me have an or-...oh, my God! No! I _**don't**_ want that!

But...I _**do**_!

I don't know what I want!

Only that I want to cry.

How can I feel both ways at once?

And, even worse, have no idea what to do about it?

And, scared, bewildered, and overwhelmed at the conflict, I lowered my face to her shoulder.

"Can you tell me about it?" she asked again...

...and I shook my head.

"Come on," she urged gently, 'I know something's upsetting you."

I didn't respond

"I _know_ something is," she continued. "Come on, Cupcake, we've had such a great evening together...let's not end it this way...so whatever it is, please tell me..._please?_"

And, after hearing the plaintive way in which she'd asked me...

...I knew I had to try.

I took a deep breath.

"S-sam, I wish that you didn't have to go hom-no! I didn't mean to _**wish**_!" I corrected myself, "What I m-mean is that I'm kind of..._bummed_ that you can't stay."

With her hands still inside my jeans, she pulled back and looked into my eyes.

"Don't worry, I'll be back tomorrow...or later today...or whatever you want to call it," she replied with a smile. "As soon as the party breaks up...in whatever way...I'll hurry right back...okay?"

Not looking at her, I nodded.

"Probably around noon...or one o'clock," she continued...

...and then hesitated.

"Is that what has you upset?" she asked. "Do you really think that I won't come bac-"

"No," I murmured, lowering my eyes. "It's not that."

There was an incredibly long stretch of silence...

...and finally, I looked up...

...to see her looking back at me kindly...

...waiting.

...while I struggled...and failed...to put my conflicted feelings into words...

...but finally managed to utter, "I w-want us to...but not, you know...just like you did, but and I...and it..."

Somehow, she managed to translate the above mess into English.

"You'd like me to hold you again? Just the two of us this time?" she asked...

...and I nodded.

"And...are you saying that...you want me to rub your...uh...lower back...the way I did in the car?"

"Yes," I admitted, "b-but this time, without m-my..."

Short stretch of silence.

"Without...your jeans on?" she guessed...

...accurately...

...and feeling both relieved and embarrassed, I replied, "Yes."

She hesitated for nearly a minute, before continuing, unsure, "And...without your shirt and bra on?"

I nodded.

"Are you saying that..." she hesitated again before continuing, "...that you'd like me to...undress you?"

"Y-yes. But...not...I oh, Sam, I d-don't w-wan-"

"It's fine," she answered quickly, "I know that you don't, so I won't even _try_ to take your underpants off...I promise...okay?"

"I...it's just...oh, Sam, I-"

"Shh. I know, Cupcake. I know."

"You know...what?" I asked, unsure of what she meant.

"I know you still aren't ready to...you know...go all the way...but-"

"But_ you_ are!" I reminded her...

...sadly understanding how incredibly difficult my insistence that we wait must be for her.

"That doesn't matter," she mumbled...

...not meeting my gaze.

"It does matter!" I shot back. "Sam, I want so badly to make _you_ happy, too!"

"Shh," she replied. "You will...you did make me happy tonight...and I know that someday you will..._that other way-_"

"I will, Sam! I promise that we will! It's just that-"

"I know," she answered, leaning forward and, with her hands still inside my jeans, beginning to rock me from side to side. "I know that you're not ready yet; but, I can kind of, um...are you trying to tell that you're...maybe thinking of us being a little...uh, closer?"

"Yes!" I blurted out, lowering my head onto her shoulder. "I w-want us to b-be!"

"Okay, then, we will," she answered in a low, reassuring voice. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

Suddenly too shy to answer with words, I nodded.

"Okay, we will," she repeated. "Now, I want you to tell me what's upsetting you so much. Are you scared that if we do, uh, get a...little closer...that I won't...stop when you tell me to?"

"No...it's n-not that!" I exclaimed truthfully.

"Well, what then?" she asked...

...pulling back to look at me...

...and, overwhelmed with fear and confusion at my conflicted feelings, I buried my face in her shoulder again...

...and started to cry.

"I see...I see now...and it's okay," she murmured, removing her right hand from inside my jeans, sliding it up under my shirt, and beginning to rub my lower back in slow, gentle circles. "I know that you're thinking that you might want to...to do something...and what you're feeling about it is making you a little...afraid, but don't worry. I promise that, no matter what happens...or what doesn't happen...that it's going to be your decision entirely...so there's nothing for you to be afr-"

"But what if we w-were...and I what if I wanted to...to..._you know_?" I sobbed...

...and, understanding exactly what I was referring to, she answered, "Well, I'd...I'd help you..._have one_...if you wanted me to."

"But, what if I..._I did_, but then...I was too scared to...what if I ...didn't help _you _have one?"

"Carls, let's not worry about any of this...or try to over-analyz-"

"I...us...tomorrow...so afraid-" I began.

"Shh," she interrupted, "don't worry...and don't be afraid. _Nothing_ is going to happen tomorrow...nothing at all...not unless you want it to," she promised.

"But I-I _do_ want it to...but I don't...but I wanted to wait! Oh, Sam! I...I f-feel-"

"I know...I know you do...and it's okay," she whispered, wrapping both of her arms around my waist and continuing to rock me...

...as I shook my head in disagreement...

...and began to cry again.

"Cupcake," she said...

...sounding very concerned...

...and pulling me even closer to her as she continued, "I think I know what you need right now." She hesitated. "Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully."

After a moment, I nodded...

...managing, with effort, to get my tears under control somewhat...

...as she continued, "Before you go to sleep tonight, I want you to...you know...to touch yourself. You'll feel so much better after you've had an or-"

"N-no! Not without you...it wouldn't be fair! I want _you_ to be the one to-"

"Shh. No, Cupcake. Not this time."

"Sam! I w-want to wait for-"

"Shh..." she whispered...

...as she slipped her hands back inside my jeans...

...all the way down...

...causing me to gasp...

...as she whispered, "Listen, we both know how badly you need to. And it's okay...and I want you to."

"N-no...I-" I began...

...but she cut me off, replying softly, "Yes. You need to. And I'm going to help you...get ready to."

"Sam, no! I-"

"Yes, Carls," she insisted quietly...

...as her hands began to caress me through my panties again...

...but this time, very slowly and sensually; and, as they did, I began trembling...

...badly...

...as she added, in a very low...but very firm voice, "When you get home, I want you to think about this...about how good it feels...and then, I want you to touch yourself...okay?"

I didn't answer.

I couldn't.

Because now, the way she was moving her hands was making my vagina contract again...

...repeatedly...

...and sharply...

...and, suddenly, I was so scared...

...scared of what she was making me feel at that moment...

...scared that I wanted so badly to grab both of her hands...

...and pull her down the stairs with me...

...down to the 8th floor...

...and into my bedroom...

...and, once I had, to pull her body down on top of mine...

...and have her hold me down with one hand...

...while she pulled my clothes off with her other one...

...and for her to then slide her hand down inside my panties...

..._the __front__ of my panties_...

...and then to...to...

...but I _didn't_ want to!

Oh, God, why was this happening? Why now? I wanted to wait...

...I was so sure I could wait...

...and now I couldn't.

But..._**why**_? We'd just spent a G-rated evening at the circus...

...and, when she'd caressed me earlier, it had been in the most loving and innocent way...

...but now, my vagina was convulsing violently...

...and I could feel my panties getting wet...

...as I pressed my crotch forward against hers...

...wondering, as I did, if she could feel my contractions through her pants.

And now shaking with fear...

..._from everything that was happening_...

...I leaned my upper body forward against her, to steady myself...

...and I felt her back make contact with the wall, as she whispered, in a loving, gentle way, "That's it...we'll start off like this, and then when you get downstairs, it'll be easy for you to...finish...and as soon as you have, you'll feel so much better."

"I want you to..but I d-don't oh, Sam...help me!" I begged. "Tell me what to _do_...because I'm so scared!"

"Shh. All right, Cupcake...I'll help you. Here's what I want you to do. Close your eyes..."

I nodded.

"...now...just focus on how you fee-that's it," she whispered...

...as my lower body lurched forward violently against her own...

...then lifting my eyes to hers...

...and wanting to cry from all the love and kindness that I saw there...

...and even more, at their complete absence of selfishness or lust...

…and at that moment, I knew that she wasn't even thinking of her own pleasure...

...not in the least...

...but only about how badly she wanted me to stop hurting.

"That's it, don't be afraid, " she whispered, her hands still sliding seductively across and down my rear, "only a little while longer, and then we're going to stop; and then I'm going to take you downstairs...and I'm going to go home.."

"No!"

"...and you'll go into your bedroom."

"N-no!"

"Yes...by yourself."

"No! Sam...I...I want y-you there w-with m-"

"Shh. I know you do-"

"Then please don't leave me!" I begged.

"I...have to."

"But I w-want y-you to h-help m-"

"No you don't," she argued. "We both know that you're not ready for...for that-"

"But...I...I..."

"Yes," she insisted quietly. "You're going to. As soon as I take you downstairs, you're going to go into your bedroom, by yourself...

"...and you're going to lock the door...

"...and then you're going to lie down on the bed...and close your eyes...and then you're going to unzip your jeans and pull them down."

"S-sam, no! I want _y-you_ to be the one who-"

"Shh..." she interrupted, "and you're going to pretend that I'm the one who's undressing you. And then, after your jeans are off, you're going to lie back, and you're going to bend your knees...

"...and put your feet flat on the mattress...

"…and then you're going to reach down, with both hands...

"...and slide both of your palms up the insides of your thighs...

"...until your fingers are touching the outside of your underpants. And when you feel how wet they are..."

She paused...

...and then continued, "...you're going to realize how badly your whole body aches..._has ached_...for such a long time; and you're going to understand how badly need to release all of this pent-up stress...right away."

I shook my head in protest.

She ignored me.

"And then, after you feel how wet they are, you're going to slide one hand down inside them...

"...far down between your legs...

"...and then you're going to...touch yourself...on the _inside_, up near the front...and as you do, you're going to let your mind wander off...into the most amazing places...

"...and then, just a few short minutes later, you're going to feel your whole body demanding release...

"...and, unable to resist any longer, you're going to let it take over...

"...completely...

"...and as soon as you do, you're going to have the most amazing orgasm...

"...all by yourself.

At that, I shook my head again...

...violently...

...as I continued to valiantly resist my body's urges...

...even though it now was _demanding_ that I listen to her...

...and that I do what she wanted me to.

"Yes," she insisted. "You will. And right after you have, you're going to feel so much better. And then, you'll fall asleep...and you're going to sleep so soundly...for hours. And by the time you wake up, it'll be early afternoon, and I'll be there with you...

"...and then, we can just hold each other...and we'll both have our clothes on...and you won't have to feel conflicted or scared anymore...not at all...and nothing else will happen...

"...and we'll both be perfectly okay with that...

"...and then, someday, when you _really are_ ready, I want you to tell me; and we'll talk about it firs-"

"N-no!" I argued...

...even though my body...and my resolve...were weakening rapidly.

"Cupcake, promise me," she insisted...

...and, doing my best to ignore what her hands were making me feel, everywhere...

...especially between my legs, I answered, "I...want to wait for _you_!"

No, Carls. Tonight. By yourself."

"Sam, _no!_ Let me be with y-"

"You're not ready for that yet. We both know it."

"I'm w-waiting," I announced stubbornly...

...but she shook her head...

...as she began sensuously squeezing and releasing both of my butt cheeks...

...while pulling my lower body even closer to her own...

...and I felt my already-weak determination slipping away rapidly, as she added, "You're not going to wait. Because, no matter how badly you want to...and no matter how hard you try to...you're not going to be able to wait. Now, close your eyes," she directed...

...and I complied...

...while almost sobbing...

...because I understood what her words meant...

...and I knew exactly what she was going to do next...

...but I put up no struggle as she removed her hands from the back of my jeans, and placed them on my hips...

...and gently moved my body away from her own...

...and then slid her right hand around to the front of me...

...and down inside my jeans...

...far down inside.

And then, even though I was terrified...

...I obediently opened my legs for her...

...as far as I could...

...crying out softly against her shoulder, as her index finger began to trace gently up and down the soaking wet crotch of my panties.

"That's it, hang onto me," she murmured reassuringly.

"Oh, Sam...I don't want t-to...h-have one! Not without y-"

"Shh. You need to, so I want you to listen to me. I know that you want to wait, but no matter how hard you try to hold it back...and I know you're going to try...you're not going to be able to. You're already so wet...and so close to being ready...and I'm going to take you downstairs."

And, even though I was more afraid than I'd ever been in my life...

...and, because of that, wanted her to stop...

..._I didn't want her to stop_...

...and, as my entire body trembled in anticipation...

...I also knew that I still wanted to wait for her.

But I also _didn't want to wait_.

All I could think about was how incredible she was making me feel...

...right here and right now...

...and how badly I wanted it to continue...

...and, realizing this, I tightened my arms around her, both sobbing and moaning softly next to her ear...

...from feelings that were equally physical and emotional.

"That's it...you're almost ready," she whispered.

"Please...h-help me!" I begged...

...even though I was completely unsure of exactly what kind of help I meant...

...but suddenly reaching down with my right hand and pressing my palm against the outside of the crotch of my jeans...

...pushing her hand up against me tightly...

...and beginning to tilt my pelvis forward against it...rapidly, while gasping repeatedly...

...because suddenly, it was becoming very hard to breathe.

"That's it," she whispered, "you're ready now...ready to help yourself do what you need to...I can feel it...and I know that you can too-"

"S-sam please stay w-wtih me ton-night!" I begged...

...slowing my hips to a halt.

"I can't," she replied, as her finger continued to move against me. "For more than one reason. We both know that."

"Please! I promise that if you do I won't ask you to...to...do anything to-w-with me!"

"That's...not an issue," she murmured.

"I promise I won't ask!" I insisted. "I just w-want you to hold me!"

"No, Carls. You need to...to have one...right away, to release all of this-"

"Then, if you want me to, I will...I promise!" I assured her. "If you really want me to, then I'll have one...all by myself...if you'll just hold me while I do!"

With a sad smile, she pulled me closer, wrapping her left arm around my lower back...

...as her right index finger continued to move.

"I love you, "Cupcake...I love you so much...and I want you to remember that, while you're...you're..."

She couldn't continue...

...and I pulled back and looked into her eyes...

...for a split second, before she averted them...

...but still, it was long enough for me to see easily how difficult all of this was for her...

...knowing that she was about to walk away from me. And how badly she wanted to stay...

...and how we both knew that, if I did, she'd hold me in her arms...

...lovingly and completely unselfishly...

...not even thinking about how her own needs...

...while I...finished...

...by myself.

And I loved her for it...

...so much that, suddenly realizing how badly I wanted her suffering to end, too...

...I pushed her body back against the wall...

...and began fumbling with the front of her baggy cargo shorts...

...but, due to fear, my hands were shaking so badly that I couldn't get them open...

...and so I plunged my right one down inside.

"Carls, no!" she exclaimed, removing her hand from inside my jeans and grabbing both of my upper arms.

"Shh...just a little bit; because, when you get home, I want you to be able to have one too!"

"No!" she repeated...

...pressing her thighs together tightly...

...but, well aware that she needed release just as badly as I did, I forced my knee between them...

….and slid my hand lower as I wrapped my free arm around her waist tightly and replied, "We both know that you need to...and I want you to...as soon as you get home."

"When I get home, I have to...work," she reminded me...

...gasping...

...as I managed to wrap my fingers around the crotch of her boxers.

She was damp.

"Shh...come on, Sam. I want you to do this-"

"No...I'll be frustrated, standing at the door...and not able to f-finish!" she insisted...

...while pulling my hand out of her pants...

...as I blurted out, "I'm so sorry!"

"Sorry? For...what?"

"F-for making you wait so long!" I answered...

...near tears again.

"Ssh."

"No...I_ won't_! Oh, S-sam, I know you need to...to have one, too...so badly!"

"Shh. I did have one...inside you...just a few days ago."

"Did you enjoy it? I demanded...

...and, in response, she stared at the floor.

"How did you feel afterward...did you enjoy it then?" I repeated.

She shrugged...

...and then slowly shook her head...

...confirming what I already knew anyway.

"I...I don't even think about it now..." she admitted. "I don't want to remember what happened...not any of-"

"Neither do I, Sam, because none of that counts! None of it was done out of love...only out of desperation...and by force! And now, somehow, we've both been given the gift of our virginity again, and...and..."

I stopped.

How could I explain the rest? How could I make her understand that I _did_ want to be with her...

...someday...

...but that I wanted our intimacy to unfold slowly...

...and gradually...

...and to experience all of the romance that led up to it...

...and that's why I was waiting.

I wanted to tell her all of that...

...but, no matter how I ran the words through my mind, they sounded so incredibly selfish.

And now, that selfishness was hurting her. I knew how badly she wanted to be with me...

...and how incredibly unselfish she was being by insisting that I have an orgasm without her there...

...and it made me feel even worse.

How could I put all of that into words?

I couldn't...

...and was snapped out of my internal dialogue as she said, "Listen-"

"No, _you_ listen!" I interjected. "I promise that we're going to-"

"Yes, I know," she answered quietly. "I know we will...when you're ready...and now I want you to promise me something else."

Although unsure of what she was going to ask of me, I nodded...

...and, without hesitation or warning, she wrapped her left arm around my waist, pulling me closer...

...as she slipped her right hand back down the front of my jeans...

...and extended her index finger...

...and began moving it, non-stop, against the outside of my panties again...

...and I looked deeply into her sad, selfless eyes.

"Promise me, Cupcake...as soon as you get home."

I hesitated...

...realizing that my refusal to comply would only end up hurting her even worse...

...but also realizing that I still wanted her there with me. And, as I struggled internally with this agonizing dilemma, I gasped loudly...

...as she pressed her index finger firmly against me...

...until it slipped easily, along with my panties, into the wetness of my vulva...

..and then, still looking deeply into my eyes, she began moving it again...

...against the left side of my now-highly-sensitive clitoris...

...as she repeated, "Promise me."

And then, terrified at the way her hand was making me feel again...

...and at the brutal intensity of my urges...

...with my arms wrapped tightly around her neck, and the sight of her face blurred by my tears...

...even though I absolutely did not want to...

...I promised.

Less than a minute later, she was zipping up my jeans...

...and then leading me quickly toward the elevator...

...and I knew that her haste was due to not wanting my arousal to subside before I could get downstairs...

...and into my bedroom.

Two floors down, as I got out of the elevator, she stood in its entrance...

...with one foot inside and one outside...to prevent it from closing...

...while she leaned back against its partially-retracted sliding door...

...and I knew that, not wanting to endure another 'Freddie Incident', she wasn't going to accompany me down the hall...

...and I turned and kissed her.

"I love you so m-much, please h-hurry back!" I urged...

...in an embarrassingly-needy voice.

"I will," she answered. "Now go on and...do what you promised. I'll wait here to make sure you get inside...okay?"

With a stabbing pain of longing in my chest, I nodded; and leaned forward, kissing her one last time...

...and then I turned away and headed up the hall...

...alone...

...wishing with all my heart that tomorrow was here already...

...because I so desperately needed to be in her arms again.

As I reached my front door, I hesitated, looking in her direction...

...to see her still standing there...

...wearing a heart-breakingly-brave smile...

...even though her eyes told another story altogether...

...one that included her lying on my bed with me, holding me in her arms...

...whispering how much she loved me, as I...

...as...I...finished what I'd just promised her I'd do.

My imagined version of that story came to an abrupt halt as I realized that she was gesturing toward my door, with both hands...

...repeatedly...

...and, with a sad smile, I nodded; unlocking it and stepping inside...

...looking at her over my shoulder as I did...until the doorjamb blocked my view.

And then, with a quiet, drawn-out sigh, I closed the door behind me silently, and rested my forehead against it...

...realizing that I couldn't go through with it...even though I'd promised her...

….even though I was absolutely aching to...

...not after how seeing how she had completely denied her own happiness for mine.

I know that you may be thinking that 'it's only whacking off', and that it's no big deal...

...especially since I'd had an orgasm with Sam, earlier in the week...

...but it was a big deal to me.

That time didn't count...wasn't meant to count...because, if it did, than I wouldn't have been given my virginity back; and I know that, as a reward for my unselfishness a few days ago, I was being given another chance...

...a chance to experience my first time..._the right way_.

And I knew it signified that we were meant to start our intimacy all over again...

…from the beginning.

Three years ago, I finally was able to admit to myself that my feelings for Sam are much, much deeper than just friendship; and that she was...and is...my one and only love. And, ever since then, I haven't touched myself...not once...even though the thought has crossed my mind...

...on numerous occasions...

...because I decided that I was going to save it for her. I want her to have that privilege; because, for years, I've been the center of Sam's universe...

...because she deliberately put me...and held me...there...

...always looking out for me, protecting me, and loving me; and so, I want her to be the only one who will ever bring me to orgasm. She deserves that.

I took a deep breath...

...and as I did, I knew that I had (finally) found the right answer to all of this.

I decided that I was going to wait...

…but only until tomorrow.

And, when she came over and we were lying on my bed together, with all of our clothes on, I'd kiss her...

...slowly and lovingly...

...for the rest of the afternoon...

...and then, when I saw how unselfish she was being, by not pushing me to do anything else whatsoever, it would make me feel secure and at ease...

...so at ease that I wouldn't be afraid to let her undress me...almost completely...

...and to let her hold me in her arms, nearly naked...

...and it would feel so good that I wouldn't be afraid to let her caress my backside again...

...and I'd feel so safe in her arms that I'd find a way to ignore how scared the passions she aroused in me were making me feel...

...and then, I'd find the resolve to take hold of her right hand...

...and slowly guide it down inside the front of my panties...

...and I'd force myself to focus only on how wonderful it felt to let her touch me...

...and on how much she loved me...

...and then, somehow, I'd find the courage to look up into her eyes...

...and nod.

And then, I'd wrap my arms around her neck...

...and hold onto her so tightly...

...and let her make me have an orgasm.

And afterward, I'd feel so incredibly safe and loved that I'd somehow manage to overcome my fears...

...and then, I wouldn't be afraid to undress her...

...and help her have one too.

And we wouldn't do _anything else_...

...we'd save all of the rest, all other forms of intimacy, for another time...

...sometime far in the future.

And all of my internal conflict would end.

We'd be together...

..._**and**_ I'd still be able to wait...

...and, knowing that I'd finally made the right decision...

...I swore all of this to myself...

...realizing as I did that it did nothing to make the non-stop, persistent ache between my legs subside...

...but also realizing that I didn't want it to.

I wanted to feel it, from now until Sam was with me again...

...wanted to be so tortured by it, and for it to hurt so painfully...

...that tomorrow, when her hand _was_ inside my panties...

...and she _had_ extended her index finger...

...I wouldn't have the resolve left to tell her to stop...

...no matter how terrified I felt.

Once I had made my mind up about everything, and had committed to seeing it through...

...all of it...

...I felt a bit better, and then I decided to go upstairs and get undressed and into bed,

...leaving my soaking wet panties on...

...because I wanted to feel them against me...

...wanted to feel what she had done to me...

...for the rest of the night.

And, removing my forehead from the door, I stood up straight, rubbing my stiff, aching neck...

...and turned around to head upstairs...

...but before I had taken two steps...

...I tripped.

After somehow managing to catch my balance, I looked down at my feet, wanting to know what had almost landed me flat on my face...

...and saw a highly-polished, black tassel loafer...

...with its mate lying nearby.

Picking them both up, I walked another three feet...

...and then leaned over and picked up a double-breasted, charcoal gray jacket, with a blue and white handkerchief dangling limply out of its pocket. Two feet later, I reached down and grabbed a navy silk necktie...

...which was lying near a black, calfskin belt...

...realizing (with a smile) as I did, that the trail of discarded clothes was leading me straight toward the high-backed living room chair...

...and that I'd find Spencer in it...

...but what I wasn't expecting was to find him sitting, hunched over...

...hair disheveled and shirttail hanging out...

...with his elbows on his knees, and his face in his hands...


	10. Chapter 10

After I'd stared down at him for nearly a minute, waiting for him to move, I finally ventured, "Hey, Spencer."

But there was no answer...

...or gesture of recognition...

...or any sign of life whatsoever...

...and so, wondering if he had fallen asleep, I reached out and shook his shoulder...

...and almost immediately, while making a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a sigh, he removed his face from his hands...

...and lifted his tormented eyes to mine...

...but only for a second before dropping them again, to stare straight ahead. As he did, I realized that my crotch was directly in his line of vision...

...and that, due to what had just transpired in the upstairs hallway, there was probably a very telling, _very wet_ spot between my legs, easily visible since I was wearing light-colored jeans...

...and so I quickly shifted my right arm forward, holding his jacket in front of my body to block his view. Since he still hadn't spoken, I asked, "Uh, Spencer...what's wrong?"

As I did, he opened his mouth and tried hard to speak, but no words emerged...

...and then he grabbed onto his knees with both hands...

...so tightly...

...while shaking his head so morosely, that my heart sank...

...because I realized that it meant he wasn't going to be able to tell me...

...and, being so damned worn out from what I'd just been through with Sam, the last thing I was up for at the moment was trying to guess...

...but still, if the situation had been reversed, and I'd been the one who was that distraught, he'd have done the same for me; and so I knew I was obliged to try.

"Well, at least give me something to go on," I requested, with a quiet sigh of resignation...

...and then I waited...

...and waited...

...and waited...

...until finally, with considerable effort, he managed to utter a single word.

"M-mercedes."

And, at the sound of her name, a hundred different scenarios began rushing, single file, through my mind...

...each one more disturbing than the last...

...and, unsure of which one I should address first, I decided that the most expedient way to get to the heart of the problem would be to proceed in chronological order; and so I asked, hesitantly, "Okay, right after the Nielsens arrived...when you two went upstairs togeth- Oh, God, Spencer did she hit on you?"

He shook his head vigorously in disagreement.

I knew better than to ask if he had hit on her...he's way too honorable to make a move on someone who's married...and so I moved on to the next possible scenario.

"Well then, Mr. Nielsen _accused_ her of hitting on you?"

"No."

(Oh, thank God! He's now able to participate verbally!)

"Okay, Mr. Nielsen accused you of hitting on her?" I guessed...

...incorrectly.

"No, that's not the problem," he replied.

"Well then," I continued, moving right along (and down) my extensive mental list, "...did something happen at the restaurant?"

Back to shaking his head...

...but in _affirmation_ this time.

"Okay," I continued, now encouraged that we were _finally_ getting somewhere, "while you were sitting at the table in the restaurant, did you...did you knock the candles over...and set one of the Nielsens on fire?"

"No, I didn't set one of them on fire."

"Oh crap, Spencer...you set BOTH of them on fire!"

"No. Nobody was on fire," he assured me.

"Well then, you accidentally said something that pissed one or both of them off...and now Socko's deal is ruined?" I guessed...

...wrongly.

"No," he replied. "Andrew was so impressed with the portfolio we submitted that he approved twenty-seven of the thirty-four designs _**and**_ placed a huge first order. Socko is going into production next week, and his first delivery to the East Coast stores should be on the shelves by Christmas."

"But, that's great...so how could it be a prob-oh, come on, Spencer! It's late and I'm exhausted...so help me out here! Whatever it is, just tell me...and then, if it's something that we can't figure out right now, we'll sleep on it...both of us...and I'm sure that by morning one of us will come up with a solu-"

"Mercedes-is-a-gallery-director-and-she-wants-to-exhibit-my-work!" he blurted out.

"Huh?" I answered, now completely bewildered. "B-but...that's wonderful! So how could it possibly be a prob-"

"Because the gallery she works for is located in Atlantic City!"

"Oh, so the problem is..." I paused to reflect for a moment before continuing, "..so, are you concerned that you can't afford to ship your sculptures all the way there? It probably _would_ be pretty expensi-"

"No," he interrupted, "due to other exhibits that she's already scheduled, gallery space is limited right now, and this is a last-minute thing, so the two of us agreed on four smaller pieces...my _Animechanical Series_...you know, the one that includes the squirrel cam?"

"Well then, there's nothing to worry about," I answered, "I'm sure it won't cost that much to send those four small-"

"They'll just fit into my two biggest suitcases, if I pack light," he interrupted.

"What do you mean...pack light?" I asked...

...even though it didn't take a genius to figure that one out.

"Because I'm leaving to go to Atlantic City with the Nielsens...tonight!" he finished...

...sounding positively distraught.

(Huh?)

"But...that's fantastic!" I gushed...

...equally relieved and enthused. "So...there's really no problem at all-oh, wow, wait until Grandad hears about this! He's gonna be so thril-"

"I've already told Grandad," he remarked sadly...

...and the smile slid right off my face.

"Oh, well...oh, now I see what's upsetting you, Spencer...and to hell with what he thinks!" I answered indignantly. "He's never gonna be happy for you...even if you get your sculptures into the Louvre! So don't let his endless, bitter criticism ruin your-"

"No, Carly...Grandad was thrilled when I told him."

"There..._see!_ To hell with his opin-...wait...what..._he_ _w-was?_" I spluttered.

"Yes. He was very congratulatory, and said that I'm going to meet the right people there...and he also said that, since Atlantic City is so close to Philadelphia and New York, this could really lead to something."

"Okay, you have to help me out here...because I'm completely stumped!" I replied...

...now beginning to feel more than a little annoyed as well as completely exhausted. "_Why_ are you so upset about all of this?"

His answer surprised me.

"Because...because I'll be gone for nine days...and I can't take you with me!"

Aw...he's just been offered this incredible opportunity...and all he can think about is worrying that he's going to disappoint me? I love my brother...so much!

"Spencer, it's okay, really," I assured him. "I mean, a week-long vacation in Atlantic City would be nice, especially since I've always wanted to go there...but I promise you I'm not upset about it! Besides, it's not like I'm going to be staying all alone; I'll have Sam here, to keep me compa-...to keep me...

"to...keep...

"...me-"

When I saw the expression on his face...

...and the ominous way he was shaking his head...

...my blood ran cold.

Oh, no.

Oh, bloody hell, no!

He couldn't possibly mean that I'd be...spending nine days in Yakima..._**with **__**Grandad**__**!**_

At this catastrophic revelation, my mind started to spin, as my internal voice began screaming 'This isn't happening...this isn't happening...this isn't hap-

Suddenly, however, I somehow managed to grab hold of my run-amuck emotions...

...and to swallow my anticipatory horror...

...because how could I possibly ruin Spencer's happiness by complaining about this? Hadn't I just told Sam how deserving he was of a break? And now, instead of being ecstatic about his first real exhibition, he was incredibly upset...because he knows how much I _hate_ Yakima...not its residents...but the town itself. I mean, when you're used to living in a big city like Seattle, with multiple interesting things to see and do around every corner, the rural remoteness of a small town can really drive you crazy!

And in my case...Yakima does!

"Carly, I'm so sorry. The rest of your Spring Break vacation is ruined now," he murmured.

His words snapped me back to the present...

...and, determined not to send him off to the other side of the country in this state of mind...

...completely unable to enjoy what should be one of the most exciting events of his career thus far...

...I put on my best brave face.

"Don't you dare feel bad about this, Spencer!" I replied, with a genuine (albeit forced) smile. "It's fantastic...and I'm so happy for you!"

"Yeah, but it's going to be for _nine days_...and we both know for a fact that Grandad _**isn't**_ going to let Sam come with you. Not after what hap-"

In a flash, I held my hand up...

...because I didn't want to hear the rest of that story. It's far too depressing.

"It's only for a little more than a week, Spencer; so don't worry...I'll be fine," I lied...

...because the thought of spending even one day without her...

...especially since we now had this whole huge intimacy thing looming - unresolved - between us...

...was stressing me out big time.

Even more depressing, I knew that Spencer was right.

Grandad can't stand Sam.

The two of them first met when Sam and I were nine...and initially, everything between them had been fine...

...but then, a few months later (and I'll try to make a long story short), Grandad had taken us both to Yakima for a day...

...to a party...

...and Sam, not realizing that it was to celebrate Yakima's _Annual Multi-Cultural Appreciation Festival_...

...had quickly approached a lady wearing a full burqa; and, after complimenting her on her 'cool Ninja costume'...

...she turned to the lady's husband, who was seated beside her...

...and, while closely inspecting his pale pink satin, formal dashiki and trousers...

...she told him that her mom had pajamas exactly like those...

...and, after asking him if he'd raided her mom's closet...

...she had snatched the black, jeweled turban from his head...

...and put it on her own...

...while asking me if she made a better looking 'Snake Charmer' than he did. And then, as Grandad rushed over to us...

...horrified...

...she turned to him and asked why he hadn't told us that this was a costume party...

...because, even though her family was broke, she'd still have found a costume...

...even if she had to wear her bathroom shower curtain...'just like that lady did,' she stated, pointing to a woman standing nearby...

...who was wearing a colorful sari.

Less than two minutes later...

...Sam and I found ourselves standing out in the parking lot...

...with Grandad's hands in a death grip on the backs of our shirt collars...

...and with her asking me why we were leaving without hitting the refreshments table.

The car ride home to Seattle was long...

...not to mention silent...

...except for Sam's repeated apologies (I counted thirteen)...

...and since then, Sam's chances of getting back into my Grandad's good graces have been irreparably ruined; and to this day, I've never asked him if she could come with me to Yakima again...

...because I know (only to well) what his answer will be!

Suddenly, I shook my head to clear it...

...realizing that Spencer was still sitting in front of me...

...still completely distraught that he'd ruined my vacation...

...and, after quickly tossing his discarded clothes onto the coffee table, I planted myself on his lap and threw my arms around his neck, while stating, "For your information, Mister, I'm going to enjoy my entire stay in Yakima."

"No you're not," he argued, "and do you know why? Because we _both_ know how mind-numbingly boring Grandad's overly-planned agendas always are. Nine days will end up seeming like nine years!"

"Oh, no it won't...and oh yes _I __will_ enjoy it...and do _you _know why? Because I'm going to be able to think of nothing else but how happy I am that you're finally getting the break that you deserve!" I shot back.

He shook his head in protest, but I pretended not to notice, as I continued, "And just think, the week after you get back to Seattle, Dad's submarine is going to be in port for a couple of days; I'm not sure exactly where or when, but when he gets in he always calls us...and then you can tell him all about your exhibition...and he's going to be so incredibly proud of yoomph!"

His hug knocked the wind completely out of me...

...and, by the time I got up off his lap, he looked almost happy.

"Still, Kiddo, I feel like I'm abandoning y-"

Reaching down, I silenced him with my fingers across his lips.

"I don't want to hear another word about it...because I'm so thrilled about this...and I'm going to be highly upset with you, Spencer Steven Shay, if you ruin my good mood!" I added sternly.

At this, he actually smiled, and, removing my hand from his mouth, he replied, "Thank you...you have no idea how much of a relief this is. Uh, Grandad will be here at 9:30, so you need to pack and then get a few hours of sleep...so go on."

With a nod, I leaned down and kissed the top of his head...

...and then headed upstairs...

...hastening my pace considerably when I heard him exclaim, "Aw man...what the hell did I spill on my pants at the restaurant?"

By the time I'd reached my room, I had stopped blushing...

...but only because my extreme embarrassment had been replaced by dread.

Dread at the realization that I now had to break the news to Sam...

...and to tell her that I'd be spending the rest of my Spring Break without her...

...halfway across the state.

But how to tell her? I wondered, leaning my back against the closed bedroom door. Should I let her down easily...because she was going to be so disappointed...no matter how I did it. After wavering for a minute or two, I decided that the best approach was probably to be straightforward...

...and then to apologize profusely, while promising that I was going to make it up to her...in a big way...as soon as I came back to Seattle.

With a sigh, I pulled my phone out and stared down at it, lost in thought...

...realizing that, in a way, this time apart from would actually be good for me. It would give me a chance to step back from the 'intimacy issue' between Sam and myself...

...and to analyze it objectively.

I mean, I really wanted...and needed...to think about why I was waiting...no...why I was making_ her_ wait. And hopefully, when I'd thought things through, I'd realize that, while I still wanted to wait to do everything with Sam...

...that I loved and trusted her enough for the two of us to be somewhat intimate...

...intimate enough to help each other have an orgasm...

...the thought of which brought my attention back to the pain between my legs...

...which had now subsided to a dull, persistent ache...

...and, taking a deep breath, I hit her number on speed-dial.

She didn't answer...

...but I really wasn't concerned about that, because I know from past experience that Sam is a creature of habit; and that as soon as she'd arrived home, she'd probably gone straight to he room and plugged her phone in to recharge, before going out to work the front door. After all, she wasn't expecting to hear from me again that night and since, besides me, she has so few real friends (okay...none), it was unlikely that anyone else would call her either...

...so it was no surprise that she didn't have her phone on her. Anyway, I had no idea when her mom's party would end (a/k/a how long it would take the police to arrive); but knowing it/they would eventually, I decided to try again later, so I got undressed...

...and, not wanting to leak onto anything else, I took my still-wet panties off, too (there was no point in wearing them anymore...and, since Sam and I weren't going to be 'together' tomorrow, I didn't really want that reminder now); and, after putting my robe on, I went to the bathroom. While I was there, I washed between my legs (I'd shower right before Grandad arrived); and, when I returned to my bedroom, I called Sam again.

No answer...

...so I got my two biggest suitcases out of the closet and packed enough clothes for a week...

...somehow managing, with Herculean effort, to close the lids!

As soon as I'd finished, I called again.

No answer...

...and so I left a message, asking her to call me as soon as she got it...and then, after setting my alarm for 8 AM...

...I crawled into bed and spent the next hour or two staring at the ceiling, anxious and exhausted, before falling into a fitful, uneasy sleep...

...with my phone beside me on the pillow.

By the time the clock woke me up, Sam still hadn't called...

...so I took a shower and got dressed...

...and called again.

No answer.

At 9, I opened my bedroom door...

...to hear the depressingly-unmistakeable, booming sound of Grandad's voice; and, heart sinking, I wheeled my two suitcases onto the elevator and went downstairs...

...to see him sitting on the couch with Spencer, both of them intently discussing the upcoming exhibition. After I'd said hello, I had a fast bowl of cereal, and then asked Grandad if we could make two stops before we left Seattle.

"I wanted to get on the road as soon as possible, because I have to be back in Yakima, to attend a City Council meeting at two," he answered.

"I'll make it fast," I promised...

…and, at this assurance, he (reluctantly) agreed.

Turning to Spencer, I buried my face in his shoulder, concentrating my hardest on not crying, as he hugged me goodbye. As he and Grandad took my suitcases downstairs, I followed...

...dragging my feet the entire way...

...and, after my bags and I had been loaded into the car, I turned and looked out the back window...

...at Spencer...

...wanting to memorize his ecstatic expression...

...so I'd be able to refer to it later...whenever I found life with Grandad unbearable...

...which I was sure would be the entire nine days.

He watched us as we drove off.

Our first stop on our way out of the city was _Bandana Republic_. Before falling asleep last night, I'd decided to get Sam a second birthday gift, because I was about to disappoint her badly (among other reasons); so I ran in, and directly over to the display of rugby shirts. Fortunately, there was a Men's Small in teal-and-white there and I bought it, paying cash; and then I hurried back to the car, returning in just under seven minutes.

Grandad was quite impressed...

...but _far __less_ so when, at my direction, he turned into Seattle's Belltown neighborhood, one of Seattle's worst.

"Are we going to The Hooligan's house?" he asked, with barely-concealed contempt.

"Just for a few minutes, I swear."

"Is this _absolutely necessary?_" he demanded.

"It is," I assured him...

...because, even though I had no intention of telling him, I knew for a fact that there was no way I could leave the city without explaining all of this, to her face...

...and without saying 'goodbye'. After all, nine days is a long time to be away from the girl you love.

After driving on (in silence) a few minutes longer, Grandad turned onto Sam's street and found a parking space, almost directly in front of her shabby, twelve story hi-rise...

.._.__**Dahmer Towers**_...

...and, promising to return soon, I jumped out of the car and ran inside the building, and up the staircase to the second floor, skidding to a halt in front of her apartment door.

The hallway was silent...which meant that the party had broken up for sure...

...since there were no loud voices inside the apartment...from guests partying...

...and no loud voices outside...from neighbors complaining.

In fact, the entire hall was deserted.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked.

Nine times.

There was no answer to any of them, so finally, I put my ear to the door.

Silence...

...and so I pounded on the door.

Still no answer or sign of life whatsoever...

...so I did the one thing that I knew was guaranteed get Sam to the door..._instantaneously_...if she was inside.

"Pizza delivery!" I yelled.

No response.

It didn't surprise me that her mom wasn't home; because it wouldn't be the first time (or the last) that she left Sam alone, while she went to spend the night elsewhere, with some stranger who had crashed her party.

But...where was Sam?

And what to do now?

For a moment, I considered knocking on her neighbors' doors and asking if they knew anything...

...but soon abandoned that plan, because Sam and her mom aren't exactly...uh...popular in the building, for a number of reasons, which I won't get into here.

Anyway, now confused and very concerned, I checked my watch.

Oh, no...

...it had been nearly fifteen minutes, and so, after a last, unproductive knock and listen at the door, I ran back downstairs and out the front door...

...and right past Grandad's car, while holding up one finger and mouthing, 'be right back'...

...and then, ignoring what I'm sure must have been a long, resentful glare from him...

...I sprinted around to the side of the building...

...and up its grungy alley...until, finding myself in the depressingly-litter-strewn, cracked cement courtyard behind it, I saw what I was looking for: The huge green trash dumpster that was located next to the building...

...right under Sam's bedroom window.

In the past, when she had been grounded (which was often), Sam had frequently climbed out her bedroom window, dropped down onto the top of the dumpster, and then climbed to the ground...before heading over to my place...

...and, remembering that it was so conveniently close to the building, maybe I'd be able to use it to see if she was in her room.

That morning I was wearing jeans and sneakers, so it was easy to climb up onto the dumpster's filthy, smelly (but thankfully closed) lid...

...only to discover that, even while standing on tiptoe, I couldn't see above her window ledge...

...but still, where there's a will there's a way; so I climbed back down and scavenged up and down the alley until I found two empty plastic milk crates, which I threw upwards, onto the dumpster's lid; and then, climbing up again, I stacked them and clambered up onto them, and, while teetering dangerously, I finally managed to see above the window ledge.

Her bed was empty.

And the room had an abandoned, unused look about it...

...like it hadn't been lived in for over a week...

...which made sense, because she'd just spent that long at my apartment.

But...what now?

The sound of Grandad's car horn honking loudly and repeatedly answered that question, and I reluctantly kicked the crates to the ground, and then scrambled down and ran back up the alley...

...and, after surruptiously wiping the soles of my sneakers on the scraggly, neglected, overgrown plot of grass that grew in front of her building (to remove the dumpster smell from them), I got into the car.

Noticing the obvious look of disappointment on my face, he asked, "So, not passed out back there in the alley either, eh?

Unwilling to get into an argument about Sam's 'numerous shortcomings' right then, I merely shook my head, and slouched in my seat...

...despairing as he drove down to the end of her street...

...and out of her neighborhood...

...and onto the I-90...

...wanting to cry at the realization that every revolution of his car's tires was taking me farther and farther away from her...

...wherever she was.

Once we were on the highway, Grandad turned the radio on, to some schmaltzy jazz/blues station...

...and, needless to say, listening to some drunken-sounding whiner lament that her true love didn't give a damn about her did nothing to lift my spirits...

...and, between that and the uncertainty of not knowing what was going on with Sam, exhaustion finally took its toll...

...and I yawned.

Grandad noticed.

"Up late last night?"

"Well, this was a last-minute change of plans, and so I had to pack and everything," I replied.

This answer must have been sufficient, because he didn't press the issue further.

"Well then, why don't you take a nap?" he suggested...

...and, just wanting to be alone with my thoughts, and to be absolved from holding up my end of the conversation for the rest of the trip, I nodded...

...and he pulled over.

Without a word, I got into back seat...

...alone...

...without my Sam...

...without her oversized trench coat to cover me...

...and without the blissful, comforting warmth of her body to snuggle up next to...

...and without any idea of where she was...

...but still, grateful that I could avoid prolonged and boring conversation with Grandad...

...for a couple of hours anyway...

...I closed my eyes.

I wouldn't exactly call it sleep (it was more like passing out), but at least when Grandad called back for me to wake up, we were just entering Yakima. Obediently I sat up, rubbing my eyes and then, hands trembling slightly, I checked my messages.

Nothing.

Now incredibly concerned about Sam's whereabouts and well-being, I slouched back against the seat and tried to figure out what I should do next. Should I call the Seattle police? Should I-

Grandad's voice interrupted my uneasy, unorganized thoughts.

"Not again! How many times before he gets it right!"

It wasn't really a question...

...and before he had even turned into the driveway...

...I knew what he was referring to...

...so I wasn't surprised to see the unevenly-mown lawn, and the sloppily-trimmed hedges that flanked the front door of Grandad's house.

"Fifty dollars wasted every week...on that nineteen year-old butcher! Damn it...he didn't even put the mower back into the garage!"

Fuming and seething, Grandad slammed his car door and stormed back to the trunk. I joined him back there, and, as he lifted my suitcases out, I cringed...

...as I heard a depressingly-familiar voice.

"Hello, Everett!"

"Hello Esther!" he replied, turning to his left, and looking over the fence at the edge of his property. I looked also, and there she was: Mrs. Payne, Grandad's incredibly nosy, incredibly needy next-door neighbor.

Seconds later, her eyes clamped onto me.

"Oh, hello, Carly! It's so nice to see you again! How have you been?" she asked eagerly...

...far too eagerly.

"Fine, thanks," I replied, hurrying toward the house, to avoid further, nosy interrogation; dragging one of my suitcases behind me, while Grandad pulled the other.

Once we had left them both in the guest bedroom, where I would be imprison- I mean _staying_ for the next nine days, Grandad turned to me and said, "It's one-thirty, so I have to leave...would you like to come with me? City Council meetings can be really fascina-"

"No, thanks," I replied...

...quickly.

"Since Spencer called me at the last minute last night, I haven't had a chance to go to the store," he continued, "but there's tavern ham in the fridge and semolina rolls on the kitchen counter, so you can make a sandwich for lunch. I'll bring dinner home with me this evening, and then we'll go grocery shopping in the morning.

I nodded and he left...

...and I was relieved to hear the front door close behind him a minute later.

I took my time unpacking...

...which was all of fifteen minutes...

...and then, I began to pace the room anxiously...and repeatedly.

Nearly an hour later, I forced myself to get a grip. This wasn't solving anything. And so, in an effort to be proactive, I called again and left a second message, saying that I was worried because I hadn't heard from her, and for her to _please_ call me as soon as she got it.

And then, I stretched out on the bed to wait.

I don't remember falling asleep...

...but, when I did wake up, it was nearly four-thirty and she _still_ hadn't called...

...and I really needed to pee.

As soon as I'd returned from the bathroom I checked my messages, but she still hadn't called...

...and realizing that I actually was hungry, I went to the kitchen.

After a huge ham sandwich and some pasta salad, I sat down on the couch and began staring at my phone...

...trying to will it to ring.

_**PANG!**_

At this unexpected sound, I jumped straight up off the couch. Grandad has the loudest doorbell you ever heard, and I should be used to it by now, but it catches me by surprise every time.

Hoping with all my heart that it wasn't Mrs. Payne...

...coming to ask Grandad for yet another favor(!)...

...or to ask me a thousand intrusive questions...

...and, while cursing Grandad for not installing a peephole...

...I opened the front door.

"Hi! Delivery for Mr. Everett Shay," the brown uniformed, slightly balding driver announced.

Relieved, I signed for it...

...and then, as I set the heavy rectangular box on the coffee table...

...my heart gave a lurch...

...because I saw that there was a message on my phone.

Snatching it off the table, I hit the play button and listened breathlessly...

...only to feel my heart sink.

It was from Wendy's mom.

She had called to thank Sam and me for the flowers and to invite us to their family's next barbecue, at the end of June...

...and now, way beyond anxious, I put the phone back onto the coffee table and began to pace again.

Where the hell was she? Had she been arrested for roughing up one of her mom's 'guests'?

Not knowing was making me crazy.

After another fifteen minutes, I stopped dead in my tracks. It was no good. I was going to have to call the Seattle Police...

...which I've always been loathe to do...because _any _attention from them is _never_ a good thing for Sa-

Suddenly, I stopped thinking...

...and tore across the room...

...because my phone was ringing again...


	11. Chapter 11

Anxiously clapping the phone to my ear, I sank down onto the sofa seconds later, relieved to hear Sam's voice, chanting, "I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm sor-"

"Thank God...thank God you called!" I practically yelled. "I was about to contact the Seattle poli-"

"-ry-I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm _so_ sor-"

"Whoa! Yes, I get it; you're sorry...but are you _all right_? What happened...and where were you?"

"-ry, I'm sor-Okay, do you want the long version or the short version of what happened?" she asked.

"The short version," I replied quickly, wanting to get straight to the heart of the matter.

"Okay," she agreed, "I was in such a rush to get to the Emergency Room, that I left my phone behind.

"Wh-what? The Emergency Room!"

"Yeah," she continued, "as soon as I got home from your place, I left it on my dresser to recharge; and then, when I was rushing back out the door, I forgot to grab it."

"But...but why did you have to go to the Emergency Room?" I asked, grabbing onto the arm of the couch with my free hand.

"Well, when I saw my mom staggering out of the kitchen, covered in blood, I had to take her."

"What!" I shouted.

"And, that's about it," she concluded. "So, how are things with you, Carls?"

"Okay, okay...give me the long version!" I demanded. "What happened to your mom?"

Sam cleared her throat and then began, "Well, it was around five in the morning, and the party was still going full blast. I was working the front door, and the music in the living room was turned up so loud that I didn't hear any of this; but according to Mom, she was in the kitchen getting more ice, when this creep who'd crashed the party decided to grab her ass."

"So, how could that be a problem?" I asked, now confused. "Your mom loves that sort of thing."

"Believe me, Carls, no one knows that better than I do; but, for whatever reason, she wasn't in the mood...so she said 'no'."

"And what did he say to that?"

"He said 'no doesn't always mean no'."

"And then?" I asked.

"So, then she told him, 'Right now, no means _**no**_'."

"And then what did he say?"

"He said, 'I love a challenge', while he reached around behind her and grabbed her butt again."

"And_ then_?"

"Well, they got into a huge argument, and she shoved him because he still refused to take 'no' for an answer; so finally, he whipped his wang out...I guess he was trying to impress her...but Mom just pointed at it and laughed; and then she said, 'Put that little thing away before it gets hurt!'; which really pissed him off; so he grabbed an empty vodka bottle off the kitchen counter and whacked her upside the head with it."

"Oh, my God!"

"Yeah. The bottle shattered, and sliced the left side of her forehead open, just above her hair line."

"Is...is she going to be okay?" I gasped.

"Well, the doctor took x-rays, and he said she doesn't have a full concussion...just confusion."

"Huh?" I replied. "Don't you mean...a _contusion_?"

"Yeah, that's it," she agreed. "That, and twenty-eight stitches. Anyway, even though she looked really bad when we walked into the E.R., we still had to sit in the waiting room for four hours before we even got to see a doctor...and then it took another seven hours to get out of there. We didn't have any money for a taxi, so we had to walk home."

"You did? But isn't that like...twenty blocks from where you live?"

"Yeah, and let me tell you, that was One Long Walk, especially since Mom was leaning on me the whole time. We got home about fifteen minutes ago, and I just put her to bed; but the good news is, the doctor said that, since the cut is above her hair line, once it heals the scar's not going to be noticeable.

"That_ is_ good news," I agreed; getting up off the couch, and walking down the hall toward my bedroom...

...listening as she continued, "Yeah, we were both relieved to hear it; but he also told me that I need to stay here with her for the rest of the day, and to bring her right back to the hospital if she feels worse."

"Oh, I see," I replied, closing the guest room's door behind me and sitting down on my bed. "Well, I'm glad she's going to be okay, and please tell her that I hope she feels better."

"Will do," she agreed. "Anyway, I'm really sorry that I can't come over today because of all of this...but I promise you that I will tomorrow, first thing, and then we can-"

"Uh, no you won't," I corrected her. "You can't."

"What do you mean I can't-aw, come on, Carls...don't be mad for this...it wasn't my fault!"

"I'm not mad at you."

"Then why are you punishing me by saying that I can't come over?" she demanded.

"Um, Sam, are you sitting down?" I asked.

"Yeah, but why does that mat-"

"Well," I continued, kicking my sneakers off, "it's good that you are, because there's...there's something I have to tell you."

At these words, there was a long stretch of silence on her end of the line...

...and then, I heard what sounded like some very shallow and rapid breathing...

...which was followed by her asking with her voice shaking, "C-carls? You're n-not having second thoughts ab-bout us, are y-

"No!" I cut her off immediately...

...my heart giving a violent wrench at the fear I'd just heard in her voice; and I insisted, "No, nothing like that, honey...I promise! It's just that...well, are you sitting down?"

"Yeah. I just told you that I am."

"Huh? Oh yes...you did."

"Well? Come on, what is it then?" she asked, still sounding extremely apprehensive...

...and so, inhaling a deep breath...

...and exhaling a deep sigh, I told her, in as few words as possible, about Spencer's gallery exhibit.

"Are you kidding?" she asked excitedly, the instant I'd finished. "You really had me worried there, but that's so great...it's about time someone gave him a chance! And just think, Cupcake, while he's gone you and I are going to have the whole apartment to ourselves, for nine whole days...with no adult supervisi-"

"No, we're not," I stated flatly...

...and, immediately, she groaned, "Oh, no...now I get it. Don't tell me that Spencer asked Mrs. Benson to move in, and to keep an eye on us the whole ti...oh, God...she's bringing Fredfreak, too...isn't she?"

"Worse."

"Come on, Carls, what could _possibly_ be worse than that? I mean, it's not like he's actually sending you to live with your grand-

"He is!" I blurted out...

...and she immediately yelled, "No!"

"Yes!"

"Aw, man! Today?"

"Unfortunately," I confirmed.

"Well...what time?"

"Nine-thirty."

After a second, long, frustrated groan, she continued, "Okay...here's what we'll do. Even though I'm not supposed to leave my mom, I'll sneak out for an hour or two anyway...right now...and I'll be there in about twenty minutes...because there's no way I'm going to let you leave Seattle without saying goodb-

"No, Sam...I meant_ nine-thirty this morning!_ I'm already in Yakima!"

"What?" she shouted...

...in a strangely-high pitched tone. "No! No way! Please tell me that you're jok-"

"Sam, I'm really, really sorry about this! I called you, over and over, last night, but I couldn't get a hold of you; so I stopped by your place this morning...but you weren't there...and I had no idea how to find y-"

"Carls...please tell me you're not going to be in Yakima for the whole nine days!" she begged.

I didn't answer her. I couldn't. Swinging my legs up onto the bed, I lay back, staring at the ceiling, watching as the late afternoon sun, which filtered into the room through the tree branches outside, threw an ever-changing abstract collage of light and shadow up onto the blinding white plaster; while hating that I'd just upset her so badly, especially after the stressful day she'd already had.

She sighed loudly, and then there was another long stretch of silence.

Finally, eyes still on the ceiling, I broke it.

"Sam, I'm really, really sorry about th-"

"Don't be," she answered quickly, although failing to hide the disappointment in her voice as she did. "You didn't do anything to be sorry for. The two of us are just going to have to 'man up' for the next week and make the best of it. So...is he driving you nuts yet?"

"From the minute I got into his car!" I informed her. "To make matters worse, he's in an extra-foul mood right now, because the landscaper did a sloppy job on his lawn and hedges...and then left without putting the mower back into the garage."

"Landscapers who don't even own their own equipment?" she cut in. "They sound really unprofessional...so, maybe he does have a point there. If they're that bad, why doesn't he just fire them?"

"Because...well, it's complicated. The guy is his friend's grandson, and he...oh, Sam...what am I gonna do? I hate it here! I absolutely_ hate_ it! And I m-miss you! You have no idea h-how much!"

"Shh," she interjected; then continued in a low, calming tone, "Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully."

"Y-yes?" I sad, tightening my shaking right hand's grip on the phone, as the sharply-defined light and shadow images above my head began to blur, due to the hot tears that were beginning to sting my eyes.

"Everything is gonna be okay;" she stated, "I promise...and my best advice to you right now is to stay as busy as possible for the next nine days. It'll makes the time go by a lot faster."

"But this is _**Yakima **_we're talking about here," I reminded her, sitting up and dragging my left sleeve across my eyes, "...the bloody boondocks! So, aside from Grandad's itinerary of insanely boring activities, what can I possibly find to do in this crummy lit-"

"You'll be fine," she insisted. "I'm sure that, in the morning, you'll be able to come up with a whole list of ideas; so just get some sleep, and then tomorrow everything will seem better."

I couldn't have disagreed more, but I didn't say so. When an entire minute had elapsed without me replying, she added, "And speaking of 'feeling better', did you um...do what you promised me you were going to do last night?"

Taking a deep breath, I (reluctantly) began, "Sam, I...I-"

"Carly? I'm home!"

"He...he's here...so I have to go now," I concluded. "Sam, I'm so sor-"

"Stop saying that!" she snapped. "None of this is your fault...so, let's just be happy for Spencer...both of us...and you _know _that I'm going to call you every day."

I hunched forward, resting my elbows on my knees, as I answered, "I...know."

"Come on, everything is going to be okay," she repeated. "Just stay really busy, like I told you to, and then the time will fly by."

I didn't, couldn't, and wouldn't agree...

...not in the least...

...but I wasn't going to start an argument with her over it, because I realized that she was only trying to help me.

"S-sam..." I faltered.

"I know, Cupcake," she answered slowly. "I love you, too. More than you could ever comprehend."

At this, I bit my lower lip...

...while focusing as hard as I could on not crying...

...just as my bedroom door swung open, and Grandad's head appeared.

"Didn't you hear me call you?"

Dropping my misty gaze the floor, I nodded silently.

"Dinner is ready," he added, "so be in the kitchen within the next five minutes."

Without waiting for a response, he closed my door and walked back up the hall...

...and, suddenly, I felt incredibly relieved that he'd spared me from having to confess to Sam that I hadn't followed her, uh, 'explicit directions' last night.

"I...I have to go now," I told her.

"It's fine, Cupcake, go have your dinner. I don't mind that we have to hang up right now, because I need to get some sleep anyway. I've been up since yesterday morning and I'm completely wiped out."

Two minutes later, I reluctantly joined Grandad in the kitchen.

Neither of us spoke much during dinner, which was just as well with me; but, as we were nearing the end of the pretty decent grilled swordfish that he'd brought home, the silence was actually starting to get to me, so I asked, "Did you see that parcel on the coffee table? It was delivered for you this afternoon."

"Yes, thank you. It's the shirts I ordered from J.W. Gacy's."

"You buy your clothes online?" I asked, surprised. "Wouldn't you want to try them on first...to make sure they fit?"

"You know I hate clothes shopping," he replied. "Besides, I've been buying from that store for years...so I know exactly how they fit...and I know all my sizes."

"Oh," I replied, "but still, what if you needed to return someth-"

_**PANG!**_

As the obnoxious, deafening sound exploded through the house...

...and through my brain...

...I jumped reflexively to my feet...

...sinking back down into my chair as Grandad went to answer the front door. I heard the murmur of voices, and he soon returned, stating matter-of-factly, "Mrs. Payne is having trouble getting her garage door opener to work, so I'm heading over to have a look at it. Anyway, I'm about finished here, so when you're done eating just clear the table."

I nodded without hesitation...relieved to be rid of him for the time being, but still resentful toward Mrs. Payne for treating him like her own personal slave; since it seemed to me that he was forever at her beck and call. When he returned, nearly half an hour later, I mentioned this, as tactfully as I could.

"I don't mind at all," he informed me, sounding slightly annoyed as he sat down on the couch. "It's called being a good neighbor."

"Well, yeah...but can't she just hire someone to help her when she has a probl-"

"There's a good TV show coming on in about ten minutes," he interrupted, reaching for the remote, "Lesser Known Civil War Battles...why don't you join me in watch-"

Immediately, I yawned...

...loudly and on cue...

...which was easy, considering that I've had so many years of practice (every time I've visited Grandad(!)

"No, but thanks. Even though that sounds uh, fascinating, it's been a long day, and I'm really beat," I answered, in my best, exhausted-sounding voice (failing to mention of course that, in addition to my nap in the car, I'd also spent most of the afternoon asleep).

"Well, alright," he replied. "Run along to bed. I'll call you in the morning, and then we'll go grocery shopping."

"Okay," I replied, leaning forward and down, so he could give me his usual, hard little peck goodnight on my forehead.

After taking a long, contemplative shower, I returned to my bedroom...

...sadly realizing, as I did that, if none of this had happened, I would be in Sam's arms right now...instead of in my pajamas.

Sam. My Sam.

I missed her, so much that it was making my heart hurt...

...but she'd already been up for a day and a half, and was doubtlessly sound asleep at the moment, so there was no way I was going to call and wake her up.

And so, with a sinking heart, I turned my gaze away from the phone on my nightstand, walked across my room instead, and leaned on the sill of my open window...

...looking through it, to the familiar, depressingly-rural scene outside...

...staring dejectedly into the darkness, watching as a solitary bat flapped randomly around the front yard's solitary, ancient pine tree...

...while I listened to locusts humming...

...and crickets chirping...

...and followed the headlights of the occasional car that drove slowly up the street...

...until they dissipated into the seemingly endless void of inky blackness.

I have no idea how long I stood there, wrapped in mind-numbing boredom...

...and heart-wrenching loneliness...

...but it seemed like hours; until, finally realizing that it wasn't accomplishing anything at all (except making me feel worse than I already did), I came to my senses and, turning away from the window, I looked across the dimly-lit room, illuminated only by the lamp on my nightstand...

...over to my desk.

Less than five minutes later, I was sitting at it and, after getting my pen out, I found a legal pad in the desk's top right-hand drawer...

...because, even though my mind was empty and numb at the moment, I'd decided that the best use of my time would be to attempt writing a 'To Do' list, like Sam had told me to...

...so I spent the next hour and a half struggling, wracking my brain...I mean, how many things could I possibly think of to do in a place like this?

Finally, nearing physical and mental exhaustion, I had managed to come up with a few ideas, actually getting as far as #17: _**Call Sam at least five times per day and tell her how much I love and miss her**_...

...before passing out, with my left cheek pillowed on my arm.

April 13th:

With my face now lying directly on the desk's unpleasantly-hard, wooden surface, I opened my eyes reluctantly...

…to the loud, unwelcome sound of Grandad calling, "Carly! It's 5:30, time to rise and shine!"

Groaning loudly, I sat up...

...feeling every muscle in my back scream in protest as I did; and, sat in resentful silence, rubbing my aching neck.

Five-thirty? It's still dark outside!

But then again, was I really surprised? I knew, from past visits, that Grandad's always been an early riser...

...but why did he insist on constantly inflicting his satanic habit on me?

Ugh.

"Are you up yet?" he asked suddenly through the closed door, evidently puzzled by the silence. "I thought the two of us would take an early morning walk, to the east end of the park, and watch the sun rise from there. It's really spectacu-"

Turning (with difficulty) in the direction of the door, I called across the room, "No, thanks. I'm still tired from yesterday...but maybe later."

"The sunrise waits for no one," he replied.

"Sorry, but I'm still really-"

"All right then, go back to sleep," he replied, sounding surprisingly agreeable. "I'll call you again when I get back, around seven, and we'll have breakfast."

I murmured something in agreement; and, while listening to the sound of his retreating footsteps thudding down the carpeted hallway, I staggered over to the bed, sprawled onto it face-down, and passed out again.

Around 8 am, still feeling kind of stiff (despite a long, hot shower), I sat down to breakfast, only to find myself staring at...

...Oatmeal...

._..which I_ _can't stand_...

...but Grandad's always saying that everyone need 'roughage', so I camouflaged the nasty, pasty stuff under a heaping pile of brown sugar and made the best of it; while the two of us discussed the menu for the coming week. After clearing the table, I (with his input) wrote a fairly long shopping list; grateful as I did that he was allowing me to have a say in what we were going to be eating...

..and conveniently forgetting to add 'Oatmeal' to the list(!) Anyway, Grandad's not much of a cook, so he suggested a lot of entrees like steaks and chops; which also seemed to indicate that he didn't expect me to do much cooking either...

...but I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad one. After all, the more time I spent hovering over the kitchen stove, the less I'd have to spend with him, participating in his tortuously-dull, overly-planned itineraries.

Once I'd washed the breakfast dishes, the two of us got into his car and drove to the grocery store.

Unfortunately however, even though we were only shopping for about a week's worth of food, it took us nearly three hours to get out of there...

...because we were stopped approximately every fifteen feet by someone Grandad knew...

...and believe me, he knows everyone in that whole damned town! Apparently not wanting to be rude, he graciously engaged in a lengthy conversation with each and every person we ran into...

...while I shifted restlessly from foot to foot, bored out of my mind, not giving a damn about their stupid gall bladder surgeries...

...or their drooling grandchildren...

...or their recent, unbelievably high property tax increases.

Finally, after what seemed forever, we arrived back home, where I spent my last shreds of energy and sanity putting the groceries away; while Grandad checked the morning paper, which he hadn't yet had the chance to do.

Upon finishing with it, he remarked, "I have to run down to the hardware store...I meant to do it while we were out this morning, but it slipped my mind. Est...I mean, _Mrs. Payne_ needs a new towel rack for her upstairs bathroom, so I'm going to pick one up; and then head on over to her place and install it. Why don't you come along?"

"Uh, no thanks, I can't; because I have to, uh..." I did some fast thinking, "...to renew my Yakima library card. It's been almost two years since my last visit...so the one I have has definitely expired."

"Planning to do some reading while you're here?" he asked.

"Yes, you know, college catalogs and all that," I answered casually...

...not revealing that I really planned to use the place as a refuge, to escape from monotony of the house...

...and from him.

Apparently satisfied with my answer, Grandad glanced at his watch.

"Well then, come along and I'll drop you off on my way. Just make sure you're home by five, in time for dinner."

Less than ten minutes later, I was standing on the library's front steps...

...waving while he drove out of sight...

...then immediately hurried back down them, and walked three blocks away; over to _The Paper Tiger_, Yakima's sole stationery store; where I bought gift wrap, a gift box, and a shipping box for Sam's rugby shirt...

...oh yes,_ and_ a mushy card.

I timed my return home (on foot) carefully; and, seeing his car parked in the driveway; I sneaked up the steps, silently unlocked the front door, and tentatively stuck my head through it, while straining my ears...

...relieved to discover that the house was completely silent, which confirmed that he still over at Mrs. Payne's...

...so I took my time with Sam's present, wrapping it lovingly, and then packing it for shipping. Fortunately, I finished before he returned. Heading back into town, my first stop was the post office, where I sent her gift to Seattle by Second Day Express...

...and then, after a fast lunch at a nearby, 'greasy spoon'-type burger joint...

...where I ordered a grilled cheese sandwich (the least lethal-looking thing on the menu)...

...I walked back to the library; where, after renewing my card, I spent most of the afternoon...not looking at college catalogs...but instead reading magazines and sending long, plaintive emails to Sam.

As promised, she called me later that evening.

"How's my Cupcake holding up?"

"Bored out of my mind! I hate it here!" I answered...

...entirely too loudly...

...immediately (and fearfully) holding my breath, as I heard Grandad's footsteps suddenly come rushing up the hall...

..but releasing it again as I heard them passing my room, and then echoing on the bathroom's tiled floor, before he closed its door behind him.

"Carls? Are you still there?"

"Uh, oh yeah...sorry about that," I answered, in a much lower tone of voice, realizing that I'd been ignoring her.

"Not a problem," she replied. "Yesterday, you mentioned that your grandad obsessively plans everything...all the time...so, what exactly is he making you do?"

"Not too much, yet," I answered. "Aside from grocery shopping this morning, I've managed to avoid him and his 'agenda' so far."

"That's my girl!" she exclaimed.

"Well, yeah...but it's only a matter of time before he feels the need to 'entertain me'; and then I'll be forced to join him on nature walks, and visiting war memorials, and, worst of all, I'll have to sit and watch him play chess in the park...for hours on end! Did I ever tell you about the time he made me-"

At that moment, I held my breath again, as the bathroom door opened...

...and seconds later, I heard Grandad's voice, on the other side of my closed one.

"Carly, it's nine pm. Time for bed."

**April 15th:**

Over the next couple of days, I settled into Yakima as well as I could...

...which wasn't well at all...

...and the next morning, while Grandad was out playing golf...

...by himself (because, I'm proud to say, he'd failed to talk me into going with him(!)...

...I found myself sitting in my room, alone, wishing that I had something more exciting to do...

...like watch paint dry...

...when the phone rang.

Snatching it up off my desk, I held to my ear; but even though I had been expecting this call...

...I still felt a thrill shoot through me as I heard Sam's voice...

...especially how excited she was.

"I! LOVE! YOU!" she yelled.

"Happy Birthday, Darling," I replied with a smile...

...one which only grew wider, when I heard her exclaim, "Oh, Carls...it's exactly what I wanted! But, I didn't know they had a Bandana Republic store in Yakima."

"They don't. I bought it for you before I left Seattle, and brought it here with me."

"Well, I love it...but not nearly as much as I love you!" she gushed.

"Aw, Sam! You know I...I..."

Unable to continue...

...I covered my mouth with my hand...

...tightly...

...while trying my hardest to repress the sobs that I'd been fighting against, ever since I'd arrived in Yakima...

...which were becoming more and more insistent that I give in to them, with each lonely, passing hour.

Understanding what was happening on my end of the line, she said, "Shh. It's going to be okay. It's only for another week."

Resting my left elbow on the desk and my forehead on my palm I admitted, "I know...but here, a week is like a _decade!"_

"I know that...and I'm sorry that you're suffering...so let's try to focus on something else, okay?"

"Y-yes," I agreed, realizing that arguing about it would be pointless.

"Okay then, any word from Spencer yet?" she asked.

Forcing myself to ignore my nearly-overwhelming emotions, I took a deep breath and replied, "No, but I'm sure he'll call me, as soon as he has a free minute."

"Yeah, he will," she agreed. "So, what's the Old Grouch got planned for you today?"

"Well, right now he's out playing golf...by himself...so I'm free of him for the moment; but unfortunately I'll be spending the evening with him and his girlfriend."

Sam gasped.

"You're kidding me...that old fossil actually managed to bag a girl?" she asked, sounding (unsurprisingly) stunned. "What's her name?"

"Violet Lee Lippincott."

What! She sounds like a real winner! Does she have three heads?"

"I don't know," I admitted, "I haven't met her yet. They've only been going out for a couple of months."

"Don't worry," Sam replied, "you can always hide in the attic until she leaves."

"No, I can't," I informed her. "It's such an overcrowded mess up there that I'd probably be buried under an avalanche of boxes!"

There was no mistaking the confusion in her voice as she answered, "But...you're always telling me how spotlessly clean and organized your Grandad's house is, because he was in the military and likes to have everything ship-shape."

"It is...and he does...but the attic is an exception. When Grandmom...uh, left so suddenly...and in a rage...he packed up all her stuff and shoved it up there," I explained, "...along with a bunch of things that she'd given him, and some that they'd picked out together. "I guess he didn't want any visible reminders of her lying around the house. For some reason, she never came back for her any of her belongings, so everything's still up there...and the whole room is packed to the rafters."

"Well then, if it's too crowded there, you can just hide under your bed," Sam suggested.

"I can't do that, either. Grandad's taking us both out to dinner."

"Oh, no," she groaned. "You're going to be their captive audience? For the whole evening?"

"Afraid so."

"Kid, you have my sympathy."

Promptly at 6:30pm, Grandad and I arrived at his favorite Yakima restaurant...

...an Olde English Inn, called_ The Spotted Dick_...

...which I believe is some kind of traditional British dessert, but which still never fails to make me laugh.

"What's so funny?" Grandad asked as we were led from the entrance into the waiting area.

"Uh, nothing," I assured him...repressing a snort.

About five minutes later, Mrs. Lippincott joined us.

Immediately, Grandad stood up and helped her with her coat; and then he gestured toward me, saying, "Violet, this is my granddaughter, Carly. Carly, this is Violet Lee Lippincott, my uh, special friend."

Making some polite comment about how nice it was to meet her, I shook her hand.

Less than a minute later, the three of us were shown to our table. With surprising agility, Grandad jumped directly in front of the waiter; and, while ignoring the man's highly-annoyed glare, he pulled Mrs. L's chair out for her.

"Why, thank you, Everett," she said, sliding into her seat...

...as I seized the opportunity to size her up.

Aside from having a bad, helmet-type hairstyle that looked like a 1970's throwback; and looking like she knew more secrets than Mata Hari (but had no intention of sharing any of them with the rest of the world...which may have been a good thing), Mrs. Lippincott appeared to be somewhat normal; and so I thought that maybe I had a sporting chance of avoiding an evening spent in hell.

I was wrong.

"Join me in a glass of wine?" she asked Grandad, once we had placed our orders and a bottle had been brought to the table.

"No, thanks, Violet," he replied. " I generally don't drink."

"Oh, Everett, you just want to set a good example in front of your granddaughter, don't you? That's so admirable," she replied; staring across the table at him in a nauseatingly wishy-washy way.

As I watched Grandad smiling back at her...

...in an equally appalling manner...

...I crossed my fingers under the table, hoping that they'd continue talking to each other, forgetting that I was even sitting there.

No such luck.

Turning to face me a moment later, Mrs. L. said, "So, Carly, tell me a little about yourself."

Repressing the strong urge to roll my eyes in exasperation, I began, "Well, I live in Seattle, where I attend Ridgeway High School. My best friend and I do a weekly-"

"Do you have a boyfriend?" she interrupted suddenly...

...and my heart sank...

...as I realized, with rapidly-dawning dread, that it was going to be one of _'those'_ conversations.

I didn't want to lie, and tell her about 'my guy Sam', especially since Grandad knows Sam _and _can spot dishonesty a mile away, so I just answered, "No, I don't at the momen-"

"What a shame, dear," she interrupted. "I would think a pretty girl like you would have several young men clamoring for your attention."

How to answer that one? I couldn't think of a satisfactory response; and so, hoping to divert her attention far, far away from the subject, I asked instead, "So, how did you and Grandad meet?"

Big mistake.

Immediately, her simpering smile contorted into one of thinly-veiled contempt...

...and then, after draining half of her (second) glass of Cabernet in one shot...she turned back to face me.

"Well," she answered...

...quite stiffly...

..."once I divorced that...that _gigolo,_ who I will euphemistically refer to as a 'husband', after dedicating almost thirty years of my life to that no-good, self serving, sorry excuse for a-

Our salads arrived.

Thrilled at the interruption, I tore into mine...

...but, less than five minutes later, Mrs. L. had abandoned hers and resumed our conversation.

Now well into her third glass of wine, she planted her right elbow firmly on the table, and then swiveled in her seat, in my direction, leaning forward...

...until her face was less than a foot from mine...

...and continued, "Listen, Dear...aside from Everett here, all the men in this world are selfish, lying philanderers, and they all should be strung up by their-"

"Violet," Grandad spoke up, "...don't you think you're being a little-"

"No, I'm not!" she snapped.

At this surprisingly rude response, my jaw dropped; and, expecting the worst, I looked quickly over at Grandad, but as I did, I was astonished to see...

...him sitting there, in spineless, closed-mouthed, accepting silence.

I couldn't believe it.

I Absolutely Could Not Believe It.

In my seventeen years, I had_ never_ seen my gruff, no-nonsense Grandad accept that kind of rudeness from anyone...

...and now, within only two months' time, this woman had him completely whipped!

Suddenly, the sound of Mrs. Lippincott's continued rant snapped me back to the present, and I reluctantly found myself tuning back in, mid sentence, to hear, "...trusted him completely, and the bastard was cheating the entire time...on a wholesale basis! All those 'out of town business trips of his! The nerve! It makes me long for Old Testament times, when, according to biblical laws, he would be forcibly castr-

At that moment, I wanted to throw my arms, in profound gratitude, around our waiter, who had just arrived at the table carrying our entrees.

Thankfully, all her complaining seemed to have given Mrs. L. an appetite; and, ramming her fork viciously into the lamb loin in front of her, she turned her attention to her dinner; letting the conversation drop for the moment...

...until the instant the table had been cleared and dessert had been ordered...

...when she turned back to me...

...and picked right up where she'd left off...

...while I sat with my eyes glazed over...

...and while Grandad, clearly her bitch, cowered on the other side of the table, in embarrassing silence...

...as she continued, "...and that's when I decided that_ all_ men are cheating, good for nothing bastards who are going to rot in the deepest pit of hell...every single one of them...for their- "

Suddenly, miraculously, she caught herself; and, turning to my grandad, she mumbled, "Present company excluded; my apologies, Everett."

"None needed," he answered...

...with unnerving submissiveness...

...before continuing, "Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I'm going to the restroom."

As Grandad stood up from the table...

...and turned in the direction of the bathrooms...

...it took everything I had not to grab onto the bottom edge of his suit jacket, and beg him not to leave me alone with her...

...but, as he made his way across the dining room, the tapping on my right shoulder diverted my attention from that desperate urge...

...and, cringing, I turned to face V.L.L. again.

"Look, now that he's gone we can discuss this openly, just us girls," she announced eagerly...

...unable to hide the noticeable slur in her voice.

Since all my energies were focused, laser-like, on keeping a forced smile plastered on my face; I couldn't spare any to answer her.

She didn't notice.

"Anyway," she stated, "as I was saying, men are only out for themselves!"

"Well, actually, my brother Spencer is a really nice gu-" I began...

...as she bulldozed her way right over me, continuing, "So make sure that you_ never _give anything up...for any man...under any circumstances!"

"Uh, okay," I agreed...

...hoping that my giving in would shut her up.

Not a chance.

"I mean it, Carly...nothing! Especially not your virginity! You _ARE_ still a virgin...aren't you?" she demanded...

...suspiciously and far too loudly...

...as my jaw dropped in disbelief...

...and, absolutely shocked and stunned by her rudeness...

...I immediately felt my cheeks burst into flames..

...as I slid down into my seat, until my chin was mere inches above the tabletop...

...and, thoroughly mortified, began to slowly and uneasily scan the entire dining room, from right to left...

...to see how many other customers were listening in, and witnessing her public humiliation of m-

Fortunately, at that moment, both Grandad and dessert arrived at the table...

...and I positively tore through my crème brulee in my desperation to get the hell out of there.

"Carly...you shouldn't eat that quickly, it's bad for your digestion" Grandad pointed out.

"Sorry, it's just that it's...so delicious!" I answered lamely...

...while avoiding making any eye contact whatsoever with Mrs. Lippincott...

...who had just grabbed the arm of a passing waiter, and was ordering a large snifter of brandy.

About twenty minutes later, even though she obviously was quite inebriated, Mrs. L. insisted on driving herself home.

To my surprise, Grandad let her...

...and, as soon as we'd reached the parking lot, I slumped in utter relief (and exhaustion) against his car while he walked her to her own.

Our ride home was oddly and awkwardly silent...

...but that was just fine with me...

...and, as soon as we returned to Grandad's house, and he'd settled onto the couch to watch the news, I locked myself in my room and called Sam.

Instead of 'hello', the first word out of her mouth was, "Well?"

"Well...what?" I asked.

"You know what I mean," she replied, "how was your hot date...with Violently Lickin'-Cock?"

"Sam! That's crude! Even for you!"

"Sorry...but how did it go?"

"Well, it was slightly less enjoyable than root canal work...or cleaning the litter box while your rabid cat Frothy is using it...or being trapped in a sewer, _barefoot_...or-"

"All right, all right, I get the picture...that bad, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"Okay, then, enlighten me. What happened?"

Still fully dressed, I sprawled on my bed; and, relieved that I'd_ finally_ found a sympathetic listener, I told her.

She didn't sound the least bit surprised.

"Well, of course he's landed a loser like that...who else would have him?" she replied.

"Good point," I conceded.

"And," she added, "it's no wonder he let her drive herself home. He's probably hoping that she'll ram her car into a deer...or a moose...or whatever the hell they have lurking in those woods down ther-"

"Sam?" I interrupted. "Wait a sec, there's another call on my...it's Spencer, so can I call you right back?"

"Sure," she replied, hanging up without another word.

I switched over to the other line.

"Hello, Spencer?"

"Greetings From Atlantic City!" he boomed.

"Hi! How's everything on the-oh, God, are you calling because...is anything wrong?" I concluded, now totally irrational and paranoid, thanks to my recent ordeal with Mrs. Lippincott.

"No, of course not," he assured me, "...but pretending to be a mature, responsible adult all day long is killing me! I haven't been able to wear my Boogie Bear T-shirt or all week, and it's driving me crazy! I swear, I don't know how much longer I can keep this charade going!"

I laughed.

"Young lady," he interrupted suddenly; in his best, fake stern voice, "you haven't called me!"

"That's true," I admitted, "and I'm sorry about that, but I knew you'd be busy at the gallery. So, how is the exhibit going?"

There was a long pause on his end of the line, but then I heard him sigh and say, "Actually, that's why I'm calling you right now. I, uh, have some news."

"Good news or bad news?" I answered quickly...

...alarmed to hear the unmistakeable, anxious edge that had suddenly crept into his voice.

"Well, that...um, depends on your attitude," he answered slowly...

...and my heart sank...

...because the last time he'd made that statement, I'd ended up helping him scavenge 'art supplies', for nine consecutive hours, at Seattle's filthy, smelly garbage dump.

Not wanting to prolong the agony of not knowing, I urged, "Come on, Spencer, just give it to me straight," while reaching over and grabbing onto the edge of my nightstand for support.

"Kiddo, that's not the right attitude!" he protested. "Your defenses are already up, and you haven't even listened to what I was about to tel-"

"Well then, hurry up and tell me!" I replied...

...immediately, loudly, and rudely.

"Okay, okay!" he replied. "Well, the day after I set up my work here at the Windsor Gallery, Mercedes introduced me to her uncle Chris, who's one of three partners in a company called _Paragon_."

"_Paragon_?" I repeated. "I've never heard of it. What do they do?"

"They operate out of Philadelphia, and they specialize in, uh, let's see...how did he word it...in designing unique and dynamic interiors for commercial buildings."

"Okay...and?" I prompted, still having no idea where this conversation was headed.

"Well," he continued, "as I said, Mercedes invited him to the gallery to have a look at my work, which he liked; so he asked me what else I've done; and...remember last year, when Freddie helped me set up that online photo gallery, showcasing all of my pieces?"

"Yes."

"Well, I showed the collection of pictures to Chris, all of them, and he liked those too...so much that he showed them to his two partners, and now they want to purchase-

"They saw your work?" I broke in. "And now they're going to buy some of your sculptures...that's fantastic! How many? Which ones?"

"None, actually."

"But...didn't you just say-"

"No," he interrupted, "what I meant is that they want me to build eighteen new pieces for them."

"Wow...eighteen pieces!" I exclaimed, sitting upright. "Spencer, that's wonderful! I'm so happy for you!"

"Wait, it gets better!" he added. "Have you heard of the _Diamond Casino_...the newest one that they're building, here in A.C.?"

"No. You know that I'm really not a fan of watching the news."

"Oh, yeah," he replied. "Well, anyway, in addition to being the largest casino on the island, _The Diamond_ is supposed to have the biggest nightclub on the entire East Coast. It's going to be called _TECHATRON_; and my work is going to be featured in it. The series of pieces I'm sculpting for them is going to be called, _Merging Man, Mind, Metal and Music_, and each one is going to be of a stylized human body...and over eight feet tall."

"That sounds so exciting!" I broke in. "And you are _so_ deserving of this! But," I paused, "they_ are_ going to take care of you, uh, financially...I mean, eighteen pieces...they are going to pay you well for this, aren't they?"

When he told me how much, I dropped my phone.

Retrieving it quickly, I said, "Hey, wait a minute...you're not joking about all of this, are you?"

"Of course not!" he answered defensively. "Why would I be?"

"Well," I continued, tentatively, "I don't know a lot about construction, but it's kind of hard for me to believe that you could land such a big job...for a casino...in less than a week's time. With projects like that, you usually have to submit all kinds of proposals...and then there's a lot of back and forth negotiating, and then it takes forever to get them approved by-"

"Carly, I'm not making this up!" he insisted, sounding more than a little hurt.

"So...you're telling me that this _Paragon _company, right off the bat, offered you a huge job like that...and that you came up with all those designs...and that the casino approved them...all in just a few days?" I scoffed.

"They did...and I didn't...and here's how it happened," he explained. "I didn't actually come up with any of this. What happened is that Walter Bradley, the artist who's been working with Paragon on this project for the last year and a half, was just arrested last month, and charged with murdering his wife; and now he's sitting in prison awaiting trial. Since he's uh, unavailable to continue with it now, and there's a definite, looming deadline, the partners were desperate to replace him as soon as possible. Anyway, to make a long story short, after reviewing my work, they showed me his pre-existing conceptual art and specs, which had already been green-lighted by the casino two months ago, and asked me if I could build them. I told them that it wouldn't be difficult; and so, after a couple of additional meetings, they offered me a contract for the project."

Finally, it made sense.

"Oh, my God, Spencer, I'm sorry that I didn't believe you, and-" I paused for a moment. "But, wait a minute...what about the cost of shipping eighteen larger-than-life sculptures, from Seattle all the way to Atlantic City? Is the company picking up the cost of that, or are you going to have to cover it out of what they're paying you?"

"Neither," he answered.

"Oh, I see..." I replied, "so, they're sending a truck all the way from New Jersey to Washington State, to pick them up?"

"Uh, no...not exactly," he replied. "I'm going to be constructing the pieces on site, because they're built-ins."

"Built-ins?"

"Yes," he confirmed, "each figure is going to be positioned so it's 'emerging' from the walls of the nightclub, so they have to be constructed on site. I'll be working with the casino's main architect on the project...as well as with Paragon."

"Huh? Wait a minute," I interrupted...

...and, as the harsh reality of the situation suddenly became clear...

...I continued, much more slowly, "Spencer, there's no way you can build eighteen pieces of custom, larger-than-life sized sculptures in the...next four...days..."

My voice trailed off.

"Carly, are you sitting down?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes," I answered dejectedly, sinking back onto my mattress...

...as my heart sank into my shoes...

...because I knew exactly what was coming next.

"Good," he answered. "Anyway, as I said, these pieces are going to be built into the walls, so they have to be constructed on site.

When I didn't respond, he added, "And, if all goes well, this project could lead to other things."

"Yes, I guess so," I admitted, grabbing a fistful of covers in dreaded anticipation.

"Good, I'm glad you're taking this so well," he answered...

...obviously totally oblivious to how I actually felt.

"Now, Carly, I want you to listen to me very carefully...and to not jump to any conclusions whatsoever...not until you've heard everything I have to say...because it's not nearly as bad as it's going to sound at first," he stated...

...as my ears and mind latched onto only one word: _**Bad**_.

When I didn't respond, he continued, "Okay, Kiddo, let's get the hard part out of the way first, okay?"

"G-go ahead," I answered...

...letting go of the covers and grabbing onto my nightstand again...

...much tighter this time...

...as I braced myself for the worst.

"Well," he began, "the bad news is that, since I can't get home in four days, like I had originally planned, you'll need to finish out your school year in Yakima."

"No!" I exclaimed, jumping immediately from a prone position, directly to my feet.

"Yes, you _will_ have to," he continued, gently but firmly, "and I'm really sorry about that, but that's only going to be for a month-and-a-hal-"

"No, Spencer!" I protested, now beginning to pace my room rapidly and erratically, as I felt every muscle in my neck and back tighten. "There's no way! I'm NOT staying here for that long, and I'm NOT going to school here! I'll go crazy if I have to spend that much time with Grandad, just because you can't come home for another six weeks!"

"Uh, actually, Kiddo," he began...

...which was followed by a long stretch of silence...

...before he added, "I'm...not coming home until the first or second week in September."

"What!" I practically yelled, skidding to a halt on the room's hardwood floor. "You're spending the next five months there? Look, I don't care what anybody says, there's no way I'm going to stay here for the entire summer, too...away from you and Sam! And nobody can make me!"

"Carly, calm down!" he replied, "I asked you to let me finish."

Over the sound of my own shallow, ragged breaths, I heard him take a deep one before he continued, "Now, listen to me...please."

When I didn't reply, he added, "I promise that you won't have to stay there for the entire summer; because, the minute school lets out...you're coming to Atlantic City and staying here with me."

"What? All summer? I am?" I demanded...unsure if, in my frenzied mental state, I'd actually heard him right.

"Yes, you are!" he exclaimed, "...and you're bringing Sam with you!"

"Really?" I gasped, starting to pace again as I continued excitedly, "I am...and you don't mind if Sam comes, too? Oh, wow, I can't wait to tell her!"

"She, uh, already knows," he replied slowly...

...and my jaw dropped.

"You told her before you told me? Spencer!"

"Sorry about that," he replied, "but I wanted to make sure she could come first; because well, after everything that's already happened, because of this trip, I didn't want you to be disappointed again."

"I forgive you!" I replied quickly, still pacing.

"Anyway," he continued, her mom says it's okay."

"Well...what did Sam say when you told her about it? Tell me!" I urged.

"Uh, the first thing she did was to ask me I could help her find a job here."

"_WHAT?"_

"I kid you not," he replied earnestly. "I told her that the company is putting me up in a two bedroom apartment, free of charge; and that, in addition to my salary, they're giving me a Per Diem, for expenses like food and dry cleaning, so she won't have to work at all; but she's insisting on getting one anyway."

"A job? You're joking! Are you sure you spoke to the right Sam?"

"I did," he assured me. "And she said that she's still going to kick in money toward our expenses."

Slowing to a halt, I sat back down on the edge of my bed...trying to process it all.

"A whole summer in Atlantic City...with you and Sam...it all sounds great...but Spencer, that's still six weeks from now! And I don't want to go to school _here_!"

"Come on," he cajoled, "it won't be so bad. Just think of it as a restful and much-needed vacation away from Miss Briggs."

As true as that statement was, I still wavered...

...because now I wasn't going to see Sam for another six weeks! That would be unbearable...

...but then again, what choice did I have?

And we _were_ going to spend the summer together...

_...the entire summer..._

...at an island resort...

...and, since Spencer would be so busy every day, I'd have her all to myself...

...it would be just the two of us, on our own...

...together...

...so maybe waiting wouldn't be so intolerable after all.

But still...six weeks away from my Sam?

Suddenly realizing that Spencer was still on the line, waiting for some sort of reassurance from me, I took a deep breath, manned-up, and replied, "Look, I'm not going to lie to you...I really don't want to be here for another six weeks, but-"

"I know you don't," he agreed. "And I'm really, really sorry...about all of that...but you've always wanted to come to Atlantic City, so just keep your eyes on the prize, okay?"

"Oka-oh, Spencer, I can't believe the way I'm acting right now!" I exclaimed suddenly. "I'm so sorry! I-I should be celebrating your new job opportunity with you! I mean, if things go well, it could lead to a permanent position with their compa-oh, wow, Dad's gonna be so proud of you!"

"Actually, he uh, already is," he answered.

"What?" I replied, more than a little surprised. "You've already spoken to Dad? How did you manage that?"

"He called me yesterday; telling me his sub got into port a week early. There was some kind of electrical problem, and they-"

"How is he?" I broke in. "And when is he gonna call me?"

"Um, unfortunately, he's not...but he asked me to send you his love."

"He's not?" I asked...

...unable to believe what I'd just heard. "B-but, Dad's never skipped calling me when he's in port! What's going on?"

"Kiddo, he didn't have time to call you because they were only in for a few hours, and then they had to ship right back out...but he told me he promises to call you around the first week in October."

"October?" I asked, now incredulous. "I have to wait 'til October to hear from him? Spencer, what's going on? They were supposed to be docked for several days...and what about the submarine? I mean, an electrical problem on a sub sounds like it would be time-consuming to repair."

"No," he answered. "Apparently, the unit they had to replace was modular...you know, pull the old one out and then snap the new one in. They just didn't happen to have that part aboard."

"But...I thought he'd be in port for at least three days...like he usually is. Why did they leave so quickly?"

"I did ask him that, but he wasn't able to tell me, because I'm not privy to that type of info; but he did say to tell you that he's really sorry, and that he promises to make it up to you."

Struggling to hide my extreme disappointment (I'd been looking forward to talking to Dad for more than four months), I continued slowly, "Well, was he excited when you told him about Atlantic City...and your casino project?"

"Yes, very...and he immediately gave permission for you to spend the summer here."

"Which one of you told Grandad that...and what did he say when you did?" I asked.

"Uh, we haven't told Grandad."

"You haven't?" I gasped. "Then he's never gonna let me go! You know what a low opinion Grandad has of Atlantic City!"

"Carly, calm down. We're going to tell him; and he's definitely going to let you go. You know that Grandad has never challenged Dad's opinion on how we're raised. If Dad says you can go, then you definitely can."

"Well, yeah," I admitted, "but...you said that I'm going to A.C. At the end of June, but Dad won't be back in port until the end of the summer, so how's he gonna tell-"

"He wrote Grandad a letter, granting you permission," Spencer answered calmly, "and he's sending it to me, so don't worry. It's already in the mail, and I'm going to fax it to Grandad, about a week before you come here."

"But...why didn't Dad just fax it to Grandad now...or call him and say that I can go?"

"Because he wanted to spare you from listening to six weeks of Grandad griping that you're going to be coming here, to this...what does he call it...this 'den of iniquity'...for the entire summer."

"Oh, yeah...good call on Dad's part," I admitted.

"Yes, it was; and, as I said," Spencer continued, "Dad didn't want you to have to spend the next six weeks listening to Grandad complaining about this trip; so, don't say anything to him in the meantime, okay?"

"Duh."

"That's my girl!" he answered warmly.

"So," I spoke up as I stretched out on my back, now feeling considerably relieved, "you said that the company is setting you up with an apartment for the summer?"

"Yes. Charles and Mercedes didn't have a spare room at their home, so I'm staying at a hotel right now, but I'm moving into the new place the day after tomorrow. I just came back from checking it out; and it's a really nice, 2-bedroom condo, overlooking the ocean; right on the Boardwalk. Actually, it's located in Ventnor, the next city over, but it's only two blocks from Atlantic City border, so we're still right there. Oh, and it's a high-security building and...oh, wait, that's my other line."

I heard him disconnect, and after a moment, he came back on and continued, "Sorry, Kiddo, but I'm going to have to wrap this up."

"Promise you'll call me the second you receive that letter from Dad!" I urged. "Because without it, Grandad's never gonna let me go to-"

"Okay, okay, relax...I promise you I will. Maybe not the second I receive it, but within a few hours of-"

"Promise me?" I demanded.

"Yes-I-promise-gotta-go-be-a-good-girl-love-you-bye."

He hung up.

Immediately, I called Sam.

From the excitement in my voice, she obviously knew that Spencer had just told me about the trip; because, without bothering to respond to my 'hello', she blurted out, "I promise you that I'm going to work so hard!"

"Spencer says that's not necessary," I reminded her.

"Yes, it is," she argued, "I have a family to support now!"

"A f-family...oh, honey...you're going to get a job b-because of m-me?" I asked, beginning to blink rapidly.

"Of course I will," she answered, sounding hurt that I'd even asked. "You know I have to take care of my Cupcake."

Well, then I'm also getting one," I replied, "...because I want to take care of you, too!"

"I'll let you."

Grabbing the other pillow that was on the bed, I hugged it tightly to my chest with my left arm, as I said, "Oh, Sam, I can't wait to-but still, this is horrible! Now, I'm not going to see you...not at all...for the next six and a half weeks!"

"Hey, come on, we'll figure something out," she answered. "After all, I could just sneak up there and-"

"Oh, no you can't!" I broke in. "Grandad knows _everyone_ in Yakima. We both know that he's uh...not exactly fond of you, so he may have put everyone here on 'high alert'; and, if you show up, then one of them is sure to rat you out."

After a moment of thoughtful silence, she stated, "Well, I'll just call you first, to make sure he's not at home; and then, as soon as I get off the bus, I'll have a taxi bring me straight to his house...in the trunk!"

"Bad idea," I countered. "If you do, we'll still get busted, because...remember when I told you about Mrs. Payne? She spends most of her day spying over our fence...and I'm sure she'll tell Grandad if I have_ anyone_ over to visit while he's out."

"Well then," she replied casually, "we're just going to have to bite the bullet for the next six weeks."

"What do you mean?" I asked, slightly alarmed at her non-nonchalant attitude. "D-don't you w-want to see m-me, Sam?"

"How can you even ask me that?" she replied. "You know I do! But, since you've just told me that I'm not going to be able to, let's talk about something positive instead."

"Okay," I agreed, "I'm positive that I'm going to HATE spending the next six weeks here, in this-"

"Not what I meant, Carls. I mean, let's talk about how great it is that we're going to spend our whole summer together...at the shore!"

"Okay."

"Good girl," she replied. "Now, I was thinking that, if we get evening shift jobs, we'll be free to bum around on the beach all day long."

"That sounds good," I admitted.

A moment later, I heard the sound of papers rustling, and then she continued, "Spencer sent me a link for Atlantic City job listings. I printed it out on the library's computer. Can you look it up online, or do you want to write the info down?"

Since I didn't want to send up a red flag by searching for jobs in A.C. on Grandad's computer, I got up off the bed and walked over to my desk; and then spent the next ten minutes copying down a long list of Atlantic City businesses that were hiring for the summer season, along with their phone numbers; including, _Shallingers Salt Water Taffy_; _Randall's Bakery_; _The Dock Town Tavern_; _The Back Bay Cafe_; _Al Fresco's_: _Captain Young's Oyster House_; _The Rockin' Roll Patisserie_, etc.

I hadn't realized how many openings there were; and finally, as my hand was beginning to cramp up, I asked her to just email me the rest.

"Okay," she agreed, "I'll send you the link, and then you can apply right online, through their website. Yakima does have a library with a computer, doesn't it?"

"Very funny."

"One thing that sucks, though," she added, "is you're going to have to fill out a separate application for each position."

"That's fine with me," I replied, "because what else am I gonna do while I'm here? And besides, didn't you tell me to stay busy?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Well then, this definitely will help me pass the time while I'm not in...oh, Sam, not school in _Yakima!_ For six whole weeks!"

"It'll be okay," she said gently.

"No it won't," I wailed, "I'm not going to know anyone!"

"That doesn't matter," she replied, "because they're all gonna know you. Didn't you say that the Yakima library has a computer?"

"Well, yeah, but what does that have to do with-"

"Well, since there's a computer there, I'm sure that every now and then Yakima's entire population crowds around it...all thirty of them."

"Sam!"

"And so, they_ have _to have seen iCarly, which means that, to them you'll be a world-famous celebrity, and they'll be climbing all over each other to make friends with you! So, what possibly could go wrong?"

"I...I guess you're right," I replied. "Still, I'm going to m-miss you...even more than I do right n-"

"Carly. It's way past time for you to go to bed!" Grandad's voice boomed, right outside my bedroom door...

...and, reluctantly, I said a tearful goodnight to Sam.

"It's been s-so hard for me being here," I told her, "not being able to see you...or to h-hold you! You don't know how badly I wish I could kiss you goodnight...just this once!"

"Shh...don't cry, Cupcake," she replied, "everything's gonna be okay."

"I kn-now; but it's just that I m-miss you so m-m-"

"Carly, it's after eleven...didn't I just tell you that it's bedtime?" Grandad's unwelcome voice interrupted...

..._again_.

"Yes," I replied.

"Then why do I still hear talking?" he demanded. "If it doesn't cease immediately, I'm coming in there and confiscating your phone."

Sam overheard.

"That control freak!" she shouted. "That Hitleresque bastard! I'm this close to calling my Uncle Carmine...and asking him to break-"

I didn't hear the rest...

...because I had no choice but to hang up on her.


	12. Chapter 12

**April 16th:**

When I finally opened my eyes to daylight, it was entirely on my own. However, not alert enough to comprehend this phenomenon (Grandad always wakes me up when I visit), I reached across the bed, grabbed my spare pillow, and pulled it to me...

...and then, closing my eyes again, I hugged it to my chest...

...while pretended that it was Sam I was holding in my arms. But after less than fifteen minutes my eyes snapped open again...

...because it had finally occurred to me that something highly unusual was going on. Letting go of the pillow, I rolled over onto my back; and looked over, through sleep-hazy eyes, at my alarm clock.

It was 8:52 in the morning...

..._and he_ _hadn't_ _called me_.

But..._why?_

Still in a semi-conscious state (which only added to my confusion), I spent the next few minutes trying to figure out why, for the first time ever, Grandad was letting me sleep in so incredibly late (for him, that is).

Unable to come up with any reason(s); and, even more importantly, since I had zero interest in facing the day, now that I knew it was going to be the first of about fifty more spent here in Yakima...

...I didn't even consider getting out of bed...

...deciding instead to just go back to sleep; even going as far as lying on my stomach again (my favorite sleeping position) and pulling the covers over my head...

...but after a few minutes, as comfortable as I was (and as groggy), I reluctantly decided against it...

...because what if Grandad thought I was staying in bed all day because I felt ill? Then he'd absolutely insist that I go to the doctor...and that was the _last _thing I was in the mood for at the moment.

Rolling over onto my back again, I put my hands behind my head and stared at up at the bedroom ceiling...

...which on this particular morning was a uniform shade of dull, lifeless gray, just like the sky outside my window...

...and stretched above my head like a dark, ominous, foreshadowing cloud.

Six weeks of school...

...here in Yakima.

Shit.

And no way out, either, I thought...

...unless I convinced Grandad to hire a tutor for me instead.

Seconds later, though, I had abandoned that idea.

No. Not an option.

As unnerving as the prospect of attending Yakima High was, I realized that it would at least give me the opportunity to get away from the house...and from him...for five days every week...

...and that was, unquestionably, an escape I definitely needed. Still, I didn't feel like going to school here...

...or anywhere else for that matter; because even though I was less than a week into my vacation I found that I was becoming very accustomed to being away from classrooms, homework, and teachers.

But then again, what did that matter? Regardless of how I felt about any of this, I still was trapped here...

...for the next six and a half weeks...

...which meant that I was (somehow) going to have to find a way to deal with it.

And then, as I lay there mulling all of this over, I was unexpectedly reminded of something I'd seen on TV over a year ago.

During one particularly uneventful evening (programming-wise), while I was randomly flipping channels, trying to find something...anything...worth watching, I'd tuned in for about ten minutes to some_ Courtroom Drama_-type show. The defendant had just been convicted of...I don't remember what...and had been sentenced to prison for seven years. As he was being cuffed and led away, the judge told him, 'Mr. Manson, don't serve the time...let the time serve you'...

...and then, only two scenes later, he was studying to become a lawyer.

For some reason, my subconscious had stored that bit of information, and had now dredged it up from somewhere deep within the recesses of my memory.

_Let the time serve you..._

...definitely an interesting idea...

...but, under these circumstances, how could it possibly help me? But then again, I wondered, why would I even remember it at all..

...unless I deliberately was meant to?

Unable to answer any of this, but determined not to start my day until I had, I pulled the covers up over my head and closed my eyes again.

Well, I began, the main problem was school itself...

...but then again, I thought, would it_ really_ be a problem? Even though I'd be spending six weeks in unfamiliar surroundings...

...surrounded by unfamiliar people...

...I'd also have access to the school's computers...

...which meant that I'd have the perfect opportunity to apply for summer jobs, for hours on end, well away from Grandad. Instead of possibly arousing his suspicions by going to the public library every day, I could easily justify all the extra time spent at school by telling him that the current curriculum was so different from Ridgeway's that I needed to stay after classes and get additional help...

...every single afternoon.

Perfect.

Absolutely perfect...

...and it had taken less than five minutes for me to reason it out!

Once I'd turned this solution over in my mind a few times, I actually felt a lot better.

Maybe this wasn't going to be so horrible after all, I thought. I'll just focus all of my energies on finding a job, instead of how miserable this town makes me...

...and, proud that I'd come up with such a productive answer so quickly and with so little effort, I actually smiled...

...and as I did, I suddenly felt like I was now confident enough to face the day. I also was becoming curious as to what was going on with Grandad; and why he hadn't woken me up; and so, wanting to make sure that he was okay, I finally climbed out of bed and stumbled out the door.

A few short minutes later, as I shuffled out of the bathroom and back into the hallway, I noticed something unusual.

The door to Grandad's office was closed...

...which it almost never is.

Not at all sure what this meant, I silently moved a few steps closer to it and strained my ears...

...to hear the murmur of someone speaking on the other side of it.

I couldn't make out _what_ was being said...but after listening for a little over a minute I realized that the only voice I heard was his...

...which meant that he was probably talking on the phone.

Yay.

Relieved that he'd temporarily found something (other than criticizing me) to occupy his time, I sneaked back up the hall and headed toward the kitchen. About twenty minutes later, just as I was sitting down to scrambled eggs and toast (still in my pajamas), he walked in.

Judging from his expression, I was fairly certain that nothing was wrong.

"Good morning, Carly."

"Good morning, Grandad," I answered. "Would you like me to make you some something?"

"No, thanks," he replied, sitting down in the chair across from mine, "I've already had breakfast. So, did you enjoy sleeping in?"

"Well, uh, yes actually," I admitted...

...trying not to sound too ecstatic, for any number of reasons.

"That's good to hear," he answered, "especially since you were up so late last night." He paused for a moment before continuing, "I just got off the phone with Spencer. He told me about his new casino project...and that you'll be going to school here for the rest of the term, instead of back in Seattle."

Unsure exactly what Spencer had said regarding how long he was_ really_ going to be in Atlantic City, I merely nodded.

"I then called the high school; and told them that you'd be transferring," Grandad added...

...and immediately, my stomach knotted up.

"Wh-what did they say?" I asked, retrieving my fork, which had slipped from my hand and clattered onto the tabletop.

Reaching for the morning paper, he replied, "The woman I spoke to said that they were going to request your records, and that they'd let me know when they received them...and then we'd take it from there."

At this announcement I felt my stomach unclench; and relieved that I didn't have to deal with any of that unpleasantness just yet, I turned back to my food while Grandad began reading.

Between bites I asked, "So, does this school go from seventh grade, up to twelfth, like Ridgeway does?"

Eyes still on the front page, he answered, "No. The main school did until about three years ago; but by then it was becoming too crowded to accommodate that many students; so a second school was built, about a mile away, for eleventh and twelfth grades only. That's the one you'll be going to."

"It sounds really small," I observed...

...unsure if that was a bad thing or a good one.

Grandad looked up from his paper.

"I think there's about four hundred students there," he replied. "It's called the _Rebecca Mulford Senior High School_;and the building is still relatively new, which means that the students haven't beaten it up too badly...yet."

As I was trying to come up with an appropriate answer to this, he asked, "Have you finished eating?"

Without glancing down at my nearly empty plate, I nodded.

"Well that's good," he replied. "Go take a shower and get dressed. Today you and I are running errands."

Oh no.

When I didn't move (because I was trying desperately to think of a way out), he urged, "Go on. We have a busy day ahead of us."

Realizing by the expression on his face (and by my failure to come up with anything resembling a valid excuse), that there was no alternative, I said, reluctantly, "Uh, okay...so, what exactly are we doing?"

Grandad looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Well, I need to stop at the insurance agents, and the dry cleaners...oh yes, and the grocery store. We forgot to buy oatmeal yesterday."

While trying to hide my disgust that he'd noticed, I asked, "So, that doesn't sound like it's going to take very lon-"

"Wait, there's more on our 'To Do' list than that," he declared, "a lot more. I also need to get a haircut, and we'll stop somewhere for lunch, and after that-"

"A haircut?" I interrupted, glancing over at the kitchen clock. "What time is your appointment?"

Grandad looked confused.

"Appointment?" he asked. "Do you think I'm going to some sissy salon? The barber shop only accepts walk-ins."

At this info, I nodded amiably, hoping that he'd reached the end of his list.

Nope.

"And then," he continued, "I have to go the office supply store, too...and while we're there you can pick up some school supplies; and then we need to stop at _Garden World_. I haven't had a chance to start my tomatoes, basil, peppers, and lettuce from seed yet, and since it's now the middle of April, that's kind of late, so this year we're going to buy plants; plus some topsoil, peat moss, and fertilizer. Oh yes, and I need a new trowel."

Great, I thought.

Just great.

The last thing I felt like doing that morning was getting grimy by helping to haul all of his gardening crap; but nevertheless, with a nod (and a silent sigh), I got up from the table, cleared it, and then went to take a shower...

...wondering why I was bothering to clean up at all since, in a couple of hours, I was just going to be dirty again. Even worse, I thought, what if, upon arriving home, Grandad decided to transplant his seedlings right away, and dragged me out into the back yard with him?

It was gonna be a l-o-o-o-o-o-ng day!

Back in my bedroom, with a second, much louder sigh, I opened my closet door...

...promptly closing it again. Since I was about to get filthy, it only made sense to dress for it; and so I crossed the room and opened my bottom dresser drawer instead.

Anticipating (correctly) that Grandad would expect me to help him with household projects during my visit to Yakima, I'd brought a shabby outfit along...

..and, ten minutes later, wearing a pair of faded, holey jeans, and a well-worn T-shirt, I pulled on the older of the two pairs of sneakers I'd brought with me; which, when I'd originally bought them two years ago had been white, but now were looking pretty beat.

Not bothering to tie them, I walked back into the kitchen...but Grandad wasn't there. He wasn't in the living room either; and, just as I was about to call down the hall toward his bedroom...

...I heard a loud, clanging noise coming from outside; and realizing that he was in the garage, I walked out of the house, locking the front door behind me.

About ten minutes later, after Grandad had evaluated his current stash of gardening supplies and written a list of what he needed, we got into the car and drove into town.

Our first stop was the barber shop...

...which fortunately wasn't crowded, because I soon realized that there was _no way_ I was going to enjoy the wait...

...not when I discovered that the most current magazine they had was from _three years ago_...

...and that its cover featured a stocky, smiling man, dressed completely in camouflage; standing proudly, rifle in hand...

...with one foot on top of the very dead moose he'd just shot!

Anyway, after only twenty minutes, I gratefully followed Grandad out of the shop.

Back in the car, as we were driving north, I asked, "So, what's our next stop?"

Without taking his eyes off the road, he replied, "_Hamilton Office Supplies_; because I'm almost out of-oh, drat!"

His phone was ringing.

Pulling over to the side of the road, he fished it from his pocket.

"Hello?" he said. "Oh, yes. No, I wasn't expecting to hear from you so...really? No, I wasn't aware of that. Right now?"

Grandad shook his left shirt cuff back and glanced at his watch.

"Oh, I see," he continued. "Well, yes, I think so. I was just heading over that way. In about fifteen minutes? All right, see you then."

He hung up.

Sliding his phone back into his inside jacket pocket, he turned to me.

"There's been a slight change in plans," he announced.

"Okay," I replied agreeably...

...secretly hoping that it involved something far more entertaining than what was on the current itinerary.

"It turns out," he continued, "that on the way to _Hamilton, _we have to stop by the school and fill out your transfer papers."

"What?" I asked loudly, while praying that I'd heard him wrong. _"Right now?"_

"Yes," he replied, "right now. Ridgeway has already faxed your transcripts to Mulford."

"B-but I c-can't," I exclaimed, staring down at my beat-up attire, "I'm not dressed for that!"

"You'll be fine," he replied calmly.

"No I won't!" I exclaimed, horrified. "Remember, you're always telling me how important first impressions are; and right now I look like some 'hood rat...who just stepped out of-"

"I said you'll be fine," he repeated, beginning to sound slightly annoyed. "Your clothes are clean...and so are you. We're just going in to sign some papers; and besides, I told them that we'd be there within fifteen minutes so there's no time for you to go home and change."

"Please, can't you call them back and reschedule?" I begged. "I promise you I'll go first thing tomorrow morning and-"

"No," he answered curtly, "I can't. And neither can you because, as it turns out, the school schedule here is different from Seattle's. Since Yakima's public schools were closed for eleven days last winter due to snow, our Spring Break ends today, and that means you'll be starting classes tomorrow."

"What!" I yelled, now stunned as well as horrified. _"Tomorrow?"_

"Yes...tomorrow," he confirmed. "That's why they asked us to come in right away."

Highly upset that I was about to make such a shabby first impression, _**and**_ that my vacation was being cut so cruelly short, I opened my mouth to argue again...

...promptly shutting it again when I saw the expression on Grandad's face.

His mind was made up...

...which meant that there was no way out...

...and so, slumping back against my seat in defeat, I said nothing as we drove the rest of the way there.

Ten minutes later Grandad parked the car, and we entered the school through its front doors...

...our footsteps echoing ominously through the otherwise empty halls, as we headed (me less than enthusiastically) toward the Admissions Office...

...which also was empty, except for two middle-aged ladies seated behind desks...

...one of whom looked up at me the moment I walked in...

...and, as her eyes dropped from my face to what I was wearing...

...the expression on her face left little doubt that she _**Did Not **_like what she saw.

Crap.

Not a good beginning.

To my relief, the lady at the other desk then waved us over to where she was sitting; and, as she smiled and greeted us pleasantly, I sank down gratefully into the chair she'd indicated, while Grandad took the one next to it.

The meeting was mercifully short. After only about ten minutes, Grandad and I filled out a couple of forms, and then we walked out to the car and drove back into town.

I won't bore you with every detail of the rest of our errands; but they consisted, for the most part, of shopping for things I had no interest in; while chatting with countless acquaintances of Grandad's, who I also had no interest in...

.._.__every __single __place __we __went_.

Right after we'd had lunch at his favorite coffee shop, we stopped a nearby sporting goods store, and he bought me a new backpack since mine was back in Seattle...

...and then, to my complete astonishment, he handed me nine hundred dollars...

...while saying that, since I'd only brought a few outfits to Yakima, I should buy more school clothes.

One thing I have to say for him: As insufferable as he can be (and usually is), Grandad has always been incredibly generous.

Since we hadn't finished our other errands yet, there was no time to shop for clothes that day...

...but that was just as well. Even though I knew from my meeting earlier that morning that RMHS didn't have a dress code, I had made up my mind to wait and see what everyone else would be wearing before I went shopping.

After making three more (infuriatingly-long) stops, our To-Do list was (finally) finished...

...and by that time, to my delight, the already overcast sky was rapidly turning a very nasty shade of dark gray.

The instant we reached home it started to rain, so Grandad decided to postpone his garden project for a day or two; and, after helping him haul all of his gardening supplies into the garage...

...I gratefully hauled my tired, grimy self into the shower.

That evening, right after dinner, Sam called.

"Hi, Honey!" I exclaimed, before she'd even had a chance to say 'hello'. "You have no idea how great it is to hear your voi-"

"Carls," she cut in, with solemnity, "I'm really sorry."

Surprised by her unexpected confession, I asked, "Wh-what do you mean? Sorry for what?"

"I...just am," she stated.

"But..._why_?" I persisted.

"Well," she began slowly, "I've been thinking and...and I feel like it's all my fault that you've ended up in this mess...halfway across the state and living with that trol-I mean...you know, I'm really happy for Spencer and everything, but still..."

"It's okay, really!" I replied quickly, not wanting her to continue beating herself up over what had happened...

...because, after all, there was no need for_ both_ of us to be miserable.

"No, it's not," she insisted. "Now you're stuck way out in the middle of nowhere...for a month and a half...and it's all because of my last wish!"

"Don't be so hard on yourself; you had no idea that this would happen," I reminded her.

"Well, yeah, but my wish was completely unselfish...so how did something so horrible still happen to you?" she demanded.

"I have no idea," I admitted, "especially since your wish was so...so-"

Suddenly, I stopped speaking...

…for nearly a minute...

...because I'd just experienced an unspeakably-horrible revelation...

...and, feeling my blood run cold in my veins, I blurted out, "Sam! I'm not here because of you!"

"Of course you are," she retorted immediately. "If it weren't for my last wish,_ none_ of this would have hap-"

"Sam..._none_ of this is your fault," I insisted. "It's mine!"

After a short stretch of profound silence from us both, I heard her ask, "Huh? How do you figure that?"

"Because," I exclaimed, now shocked at what had happened...

..._and_ that I hadn't realized it until now, "you didn't make the last wish...I did!"

"Wh-what do you mean, Carls?"

Furious with myself for having been so stupid, I blurted out, "The night we went to the circus? After we got back to my place, right after I got out of the elevator and was walking to my apartment, I wished with all my heart that, 'tomorrow was here already, because I so desperately want and need to be in Sam's arms again'!"

She gasped.

"You did? Oh, no!"

"Oh, yes!" I declared. "So all of this was _my_ fault, not yours!" When she didn't answer, I added, "Don't you see? I was being incredibly selfish...And now I'm being punished for it!"

"Well," she observed (accurately), "no matter how all of this happened, it still sucks! And even worse, next week you'll be starting school down there in that hick town."

"No, not next week," I corrected her. "More like tomorrow!"

"What?" she yelped. "Tomorrow? No way! How did_ that_ happen?"

I told her.

"Well," she declared, obviously trying to minimize how awful I felt, "at least you'll have a project to keep you busy...looking for a job."

"True," I replied, "I was just thinking about that this morning."

"And while we're on the subject of jobs," she continued, "Two days ago, I submitted nineteen applications online. I'll send you an email listing which ones; and I hope you'll apply for the same positions, because it would be really cool if we could both work in the same place."

"Somehow, we're going to," I assured her eagerly, "because I want to make up for all the time you and I have been apart!"

"Same here, Cupcake," she declared. " And I promise that, as soon as we get to A.C., I'm going to spend every second of every day with you!"

I went to bed happy.

Waking up the next morning, however, was another matter.

Even though I'd promised myself (and Sam) that I was going to stay focused on my job search...

...instead of on how horrible the next six weeks were going to be...

...I found that (despite my best efforts) my resolve was slipping; and so I decided that for one day only I'd give in to it. After all, since it was my first day of school at R.M. it would probably be a good idea to devote most of my attention on settling in anyway. And so, after vowing to myself to get right back on track with my program first thing tomorrow, I got out of bed, showered, and then returned to my room and opened my closet.

I didn't have to think about what I was going to pull out of it.

As I mentioned earlier, I had no idea what the other students would be wearing, only that the school didn't have a dress code...

...but still, I was determined to make the best first impression possible...

...and so I decided, for this first day, to wear the dressiest outfit that I'd brought to Yakima (knowing that Grandad would be taking me out to dinner at least once).

Ten minutes later I stood in front of my mirror...

...easily giving full approval to my pleated gray flannel pants, my white silk shirt, and my gray tweed jacket. And then, after a moment's consideration, I walked across the room, and picked up the small zip case that was lying on top of my desk.

The one that contained the few pieces of jewelry that I'd brought with me.

Opening it, I immediately pulled out a small, hinged beige velvet box and lifted the lid.

And then, I looked down at what was inside...

...and smiled...

...at my mother's 19th century antique brooch.

A single large, marquis-cut cornflower blue sapphire, bordered with tiny diamonds, in an elaborately scrolled, 18 karat yellow gold setting.

Dad had given it to Mom on their wedding day.

For luck, I pinned it to my left lapel and then walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table...

...where I immediately discovered that I was way too nervous to eat.

"Come on, now," Grandad urged, "you can't concentrate on your studies if you have an empty stomach."

"I'm not hungry," I promptly informed him.

Well then, just have a banana," he suggested, gesturing to the bowl of fruit in the center of the table, "or some toast and jam...or, if you'd like I'll make you a bowl of oat-"

Before he could finish extending that offer, let alone act on it, I snatched a piece of toast from the plate next to the fruit bowl and stuffed it into my mouth.

"There, that's it," he said with an encouraging smile.

After ten minutes I'd actually managed to finish two pieces of toast and some cranberry juice; and once it became obvious that I wasn't going to be able to stomach anything else, Grandad cleared the table while I shouldered my backpack...

...and then, dragging my feet, I followed him out the front door.

Since I hadn't made arrangements yesterday for bus transportation , Grandad drove me to school...

...and began cursing when, after we'd been on the road for less than five minutes, his oil light came on.

Making a detour, we drove to the nearest gas station, where he sat fuming for nearly twenty-five minutes, while the sole mechanic on duty serviced the car ahead of ours.

Wanting to be helpful (it was always in my best interests to keep him from getting too cranky), I suggested that we just buy some oil at the convenience store across the street, and that he put in in himself...

...but he quickly vetoed that idea...

...by saying that, as soon as he'd dropped me off, he was headed straight to Mrs. Lippincott's house, and taking her out to lunch; and therefore, he didn't want to get his hands and clothes grimy.

Finally, it was our turn to be helped; and, after the filter had been replaced and the oil tank had been filled, we were back on the road...

...arriving at school twelve minutes late...

...with Grandad still in a foul mood (he's always been adamant about punctuality).

Insisting that I could manage by myself (so there was no need for him to escort me in), I got out of the car; and after he'd wished me luck and driven off I walked, reluctantly, through the school's front doors.

Since classes had already started, there were no other students in the hallways, so they were just as silent as they'd been yesterday, the only sound bding my echoing footsteps...

...as I walked toward my doom.

About halfway to Admissions, I stopped suddenly...

...seeing something that I hadn't noticed the day before...

...and, grateful for something...anything...to delay what was coming, I walked over to a display of photos on the left-hand wall, right next to the trophy case.

The banner above it read '_Who's Who at Mulford_'.

Figuring that, since I was already so late a few more minutes wouldn't matter, I spent the next five or so studying the twenty-one pictures in front of me; which, according to the names and titles under them, were the leaders of Mulford's Student Government, sports teams, cheer leading squad, etc.

I took my time, assessing each student at length, thinking as I did that most of them looked friendly enough...

...but finally, realizing that I'd run out of excuses and it was time to face the inevitable, I turned and walked the rest of the way down the hall...

...into the the Admissions Office...

…and straight over to the desk of Mrs. Stewart (who I'd met with yesterday), grateful as I did to see that the other, scowling lady wasn't in at the moment.

Mrs. S. was currently in the middle of a phone call, so I sat down and waited politely...

...but less than ten minutes later, I was (with heart pounding) following her down the hallway...

...and then, turning into an adjacent one...

...we walked all the way to its end...

...both of us coming to a halt in front of a room marked 'QUAD B'.

Mrs. Stewart knocked.

"Come in," I heard a woman's voice reply.

A second later, Mrs. S. opened the door...

...and then, taking a deep breath, I walked into the room behind her.

Once she'd introduced me to my teacher, Mrs. Griffin, I looked over, warily, at my new classmates. As they looked back at me, I saw several friendly smiles, obviously of recognition...

...which meant that some of them definitely watched the show...

...and profoundly thankful for this, I found myself breathing a bit easier.

After Mrs. Stewart had left and Mrs. Griffin (who didn't seem to know me or iCarly) had introduced me to the class, she handed me an English textbook and asked me to take a seat.

Unfortunately, the only empty one available was in the front row...

...dead center.

I sat down where she had indicated, slightly disappointed. Due to my location, I now had no real chance to size up any of the other kids. Oh well, I thought, there was always the chance to get a better seat in my next class, which was History.

The lesson itself wasn't hard (English is easily my best subject), but at the end of it I found, to my surprise, that we weren't going to be leaving the room...

...because these 'quad' classes were different from the ones I'd had at Ridgeway. For some reason, when changing subjects at R.M., it's the teachers who travel from room to room instead of the students. Maybe they think that this will result in a more orderly transition between classes; I don't know...

...but anyway, I wasn't exactly thrilled to find that I was going to be stuck sitting where I was for the rest of the day...not only because I couldn't study my classmates...

...but because I immediately realized that most of them were studying me (I could feel their eyes on my back). But still, I made the best of it, getting successfully through both History and Science (which as it turned out, consisted of theory rather than lab work).

Finally, the lunch bell rang.

While I was packing my books and homework assignments, I heard someone say, "Excuse me, Carly?"

As I looked up in surprise, to find two smiling, friendly-looking girls standing next to my desk, the taller of them spoke again.

"Hi! I'm Amy, and this is Renee. We love your show, and were wondering if you'd like to sit with us at lunch?"

"Sure," I answered, smiling back, "I'd love to."

Shouldering my backpack, I followed them (happily) toward the classroom door, getting as far as the teacher's desk when Mr. Shelton, who taught Science, reached over and tapped me on the arm.

"Carly, I need to speak to you."

I looked over, apologetically, at Amy and Renee.

"Sorry," I said, "but uh, don't wait around for me...can I meet up with you both in a few minutes?"

They assured me that I could.

After I'd filled out a form arranging for bus transportation and had been given my locker assignment, I hurried out of the room, straight to the cafeteria...and then rushed through the lunch line and into the dining area...

...but, as I looked across the crowded room, over to where Amy and Renee were sitting, I was disappointed to see that their table was now completely full. Apparently, they had been unable to save me a seat.

Oh, well, I thought, there's always tomorrow.

Glancing around the room once again, I spied an empty chair several tables away and made my way over to it. As I asked, "Mind if I join you?" the six jocks who were already sitting there, deep in conversation, looked up...

...and every one of them smiled at me...

...while a couple looked me up and down, obviously appraising/evaluating the 'scenery'...

...but still, almost in unison, all of them said, "Yeah, sure!"

With an appreciative smile, I sat down in the table's only empty chair, ready to introduce myself and strike up a conversation...

...but, as I just mentioned, one was already in progress; and turning away from me immediately, all six of them put their heads back together and resumed discussing the Mariners' chances this season (which had already started), while debating the various pros and cons of the team's current line up...

...and so, not wanting to interrupt, I turned my attention to my food; which for the record wasn't bad at all, considering that it was school cafeteria chow.

I had just taken my second bite of lasagna when I heard an excited-sounding voice, coming from somewhere behind me.

"Look! It's Carly Shay from iCarly...can I have your autograph?"

Since I didn't want to answer with my mouth full, I merely nodded, while dragging my backpack toward me. Quickly pulling my pen and an index card from its front pocket, I wrote what I usually did on such occasions: _Very Best Wishes, Carly Shay_.

Pushing my chair back from the table, I stood up and turned around...

...to see that four very attractive girls were standing behind me.

But...which one was I supposed to give the card to?

"Uh, hi! I'm not sure who asked me for this," I stated...

...and the girl second from the left raised her hand slightly.

"I did," she replied...

...and, with a smile, I held the card out to her.

To my surprise, she didn't take it.

"What...you didn't think I was serious, did you?" she asked...

...in a highly-sarcastic tone of voice...

...and, card still in hand, I froze.

When I didn't reply, she continued, with a condescending smirk, "You know, it's really presumptuous of you to think that I'd _ever _want your autograph...but then again, I shouldn't be surprised, considering that you're so full of yourself!"

As this unexpected accusation, I felt the color rapidly draining from my face; and my mind beginning to spin from quickly-mounting confusion, as I tried to figure out what was going on...

...wondering how this girl could possibly be so insulting toward someone she'd never even met before...

...but, unfortunately, my brain wasn't cooperating.

Meanwhile, she just stood there with her friends, the four of them waiting in silence for me to respond...

...but I couldn't...

...because suddenly, a very possible reason for her contempt had occurred to me...

...and, now panicking, I began wracking my mind...

...frantically trying to recall if I had _**ever**_ mentioned on iCarly that I absolutely _**hate**_ Yakima...

...because if I had...and she'd heard...then of course she'd be upset with me.

And she'd have every right to be, considering that I'd trashed her hometown on the World Wide Web.

However, in my self-conscious apprehension, I couldn't remember whether I had ever been that rude or not; and so, deciding that it definitely would be better to err on the side of caution and give her the_ full_ benefit of the doubt, I smiled warmly and answered, now slightly nervous, "Um, look, I...I know that sometimes on iCarly things get a little...crazy...but if we've _ever_ said or done _anything_ that you find...well, offensive, then I'd like to apologize for it...sincerely..._right now_."

"Well then," she replied, tossing her long blonde hair back off her shoulders, "in that case, I hope you don't have any other plans for this month, because you're going to spend the rest of it apologizing to me...for every single episode of that travesty you call a show!"

Realizing that my mouth was hanging open, I shut it again...

...staring at her in shocked speechlessness, as she continued, "Seriously...you consider that crap to be entertainment? 'Making Chicken Soup in the Toilet'? A 'Talking Bra'? 'Street Fishing'? 'Random Duncing'?"

"Uh, Tiffy," one of the other girls spoke up, "I think you mean 'Random Dancing'."

Tiffy whipped around to face her.

"Shut it, Marci, I know what I said!" she snapped. Turning back to me she continued, "Oh, yes, and speaking of dunces, let's not forget the 'Idiot Farm Girl'...but at least, acting-wise, that one can't have been too much of a stretch for you."

The two girls standing to her left snickered at this...

...and suddenly, feeling my face flush (even though my hands felt oddly cold), I remembered that, earlier that morning, I'd seen her picture on the 'Who's Who' display.

Her full name was Tiffany Myers...

...and she was both Cheer Captain_ and _Student Body President.

Oh no.

When I didn't reply, Tiffy, realizing that she needed to hold up _both _ends of the conversation, continued, "Well, well, well, girls...look at this, there's a Celebri-tard...right here in our midst!"

As I stood there, shocked and silent, desperately searching my brain for way to diffuse the situation...

...the girl on Tiffy's right turned to her.

"Uh, Tiff...being on a web show doesn't really make someone a celebrity," she observed.

"I know that, Trace," Tiffy said, rolling her eyes in exasperation, "but Carly here certainly doesn't!"

Suddenly, she stopped speaking and looked down at my outfit; and then back at her friends.

"By the way," she informed them, "my aunt Liz, who works in Admissions? Last night, she told me that Carly showed up for her interview yesterday dressed like a total bum!"

Before I could offer an explanation for this, she continued, "And look what she's wearing now...it's easy to see that she thinks she's so much better than the rest of us."

At these words, I shifted my eyes from their casual jeans and sweaters to my own dressy outfit.

Suddenly (and thankfully), my ability to speak returned.

"I just...wanted to make a good first im-" was as far as I got...

...before Tiffy cut in.

"It's obvious that she wants to make sure that we're well aware of how superior she is."

"But I-" I began to protest...

...as she continued, "So superior that she thinks can wear whatever she wants, no matter how inappropriate it is...oh, yes, and let's not forget that she feels she can make her own schedule, too. It's her first day of school, and she couldn't even bother to show up on time. Instead she sauntered in over half an hour late," she concluded...

...and my voice deserted me again.

Apparently emboldened by Tiffy's snarky remarks (and by my failure to return them), the girl standing directly on her left suddenly leaned forward and stared at the antique pin on my left lapel...

...the one that my mother had given me shortly before she'd passed away.

"Nice brooch," she remarked. "What is that..._plastic_?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Jessica," Tiffy immediately interjected, "the only thing that's plastic around here is Carly's personality!"

She quickly scanned the room, and then turned back to me.

"So tell me, Carly, did you transfer here alone? You must have...because I don't see that dyke-sidekick-freak of yours anywhere," she announced rudely...

...and, finally, I lost it.

"Don't you _dare_ call her that!" I shouted...

...not even caring that all the other students were already looking at us...

...most of them obviously anticipating/hoping for a fight.

"Don't call Sam a dyke?" Tiffy asked. "Why not? Everyone else does!"

At this, I felt my cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red, as I heard scattered laughter coming from around the dining room.

And now, suddenly desperate for someone...anyone...to come to my defense...

...and to tell Tiffy that they'd watched me on iCarly, and that I seemed to be a decent person...

...and that she should at least get to know me before passing judgment...

...I scanned the entire room frantically; but, not only did no one appear willing to take my side, there also wasn't a single teacher in sight...

...and so I turned, eyes pleading, over to Amy and Renee...

...but, almost immediately, their own eyes dropped to their plates...

...and now realizing that I was wildly grasping at straws, I turned around to my own table and looked down at the six jocks who were sitting there...the ones who, minutes before, had welcomed me...

...hoping as I did that even one of them would be gentlemanly enough to speak up and take my side...

...but, instantly, they all averted their eyes.

No.

Oh, God...no.

It was obvious that she owned the other students...

...every single one of them.

Taking a shaky breath, I quickly stopped to consider my options...

...only to realize that I didn't have any. No matter what Tiffy said or did, there was _No __Way _I could be rude back to her...

...because since it was 'four against one', she and her friends would definitely gang up on me...

...not in the school yard, but in the Principal's Office...

...where they would doubtlessly grossly exaggerate and/or twist everything I'd said; and God knows what would happen then. I mean, none of the faculty knew me yet, and none of the other students would dare to contradict them, so it would be my word against theirs; and, since Tiffy obviously 'could do no wrong' around here (how else could such an evil troll rise to _Who's Who_ status(?) I would come off looking like the troublemaker...

...possibly getting suspended...

...maybe for so long that I ended up in Summer School...

...and there was no way I was going to let that happen.

I wasn't going to allow_ anyone_ or _anything_ ruin my summer with Sam.

Sam.

Suddenly realizing that, no matter what, I still wasn't about to let Tiffy...or anyone else attack her...especially when she wasn't here to defend herself, I took a deep breath.

"Look," I said, my voice still surprisingly friendly, "you guys don't know Sam...but I promise you that, if you did, you'd realize that she's a very likeable-"

"Likeable-Muff-Diving-Carpet-Munching-Lesbian?" Tiffy quickly and crudely finished my sentence.

As I opened my mouth to protest, she added, "Carly, it's so obvious that she's a dyke, and if you can't see it, then you're an idiot...or...or maybe you're just sticking up for her because you're a dyke too! Oh, yes," she added, "and while we're on the subject of Sam, has that sick, twisted freak ever tried to stick that filthy, diseased tongue of hers in your-"

At that moment, the bell rang...

...which was just as well, as my appetite was now completely destroyed...

...and, grateful that this confrontation was over, because I was now furious enough to do things to Tiffy that would land her in the hospital...

...and me in prison...

...I snatched up my backpack and lunch tray, and hurried toward the cafeteria's exit...

...making a mental note as I did to spend the next six weeks as far away from Tiffy and her cronies as I possibly could.

This was, however, easier said than done since all four of them were in 'Quad B'.

Two minutes later, back in the classroom, I shrugged my backpack off and sat down at my desk...

...managing, with effort, not to react to the ball of wadded up paper that almost immediately bounced off the back of my right shoulder...

...and now, half-blinded by a screaming headache, I opened my Social Studies book and bent over it; thankful that the teacher had just arrived; which meant that I probably wouldn't be the target of any more projectiles...

...at least until the end of the class...

...which, fortunately, passed otherwise uneventfully...

...as did Algebra.

Finally, the bell rang, and we all left the classroom...

...and walked to the gym.

No one spoke to me.

I followed the rest of the girls into the girls' locker room, where I found the coach, Ms. Butcher, sitting in her office...re-lacing a catcher's mitt. I introduced myself to her; and, after she'd crushed my right hand in a death grip and had assigned me a gym locker, I changed into the T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers I'd brought with me that morning; while the rest of the class did the same (there were no gym uniforms at this school).

Afterward, Ms. Butcher and two of my classmates grabbed several heavy bags of equipment, and the rest of us followed them out of the building...

...and onto the hockey field.

I'm not exactly the most athletic person on the planet, but I'd played a little field hockey during my Phys Ed classes back at Ridgway, so at least I had a clue as to what was about to happen, I thought confidently.

Little did I realize how wrong I was.

Possibly wanting to assess my athletic abilities right away, Ms. Butcher decided to assign me the position of 'blue team' center; and less than a minute later, I found myself, clutching my stick, crouched directly across from the 'red team's' center...

...Tiffany Myers.

It quickly became very clear that, aside from bullying, Tiffany Myers' main purpose on this earth is to play field hockey...

...with sadistic brutality...

...because, after slamming the end of her stick directly (and painfully) into the front of my bare left shin (a second before the first whistle was even blown), she quickly scooped the ball from between us and then leaped past me and tore down the field...

...while I, cursing profusely, hurried along behind her; limping as quickly as I could.

And, believe it or not, that was the most enjoyable moment of the entire class.

Forty-five tortuously-long minutes later; after having been elbowed frequently, body-slammed repeatedly, and kicked relentlessly...

...by both Tiffy_ and _all three of her thugs...

...I limped (with difficulty) to the edge of the field; where I stood bent over, hands on knees, struggling to catch my breath as I watched Ms. Butcher packing up the equipment.

Apparently, Tiffy was watching too...

...because, seeing (and seizing) her chance, she silently crept up behind me...

...and seconds later, I felt her one of her cleats slamming into the back of my right knee...

...and her hockey stick slamming into the back of my left one...

...and the hard ground slamming into the entire rear of me (including my head) as I sprawled backward onto it.

At my loud cry of pain and surprise, Ms. Butcher dropped the equipment bag she was closing and spun around to face me...

...just as Tiffy, bending forward over my battered body, asked loudly, "Carly? Car- oh, my God, honey...are you okay?"

Before I could answer...

...with spectacularly-memorable vulgarity...

...she had grabbed (way too tightly) onto my upper arms and hauled me into an upright position.

"Oh, dear, I don't know who left this stick lying here to someone trip over, but people _really should be more careful!_" she added...

...while giving me a Very Pointed Look...

...which, unfortunately, Mrs. Butcher didn't witness, since Tiffy wasn't was facing her.

Shaking her hands off me...immediately and disgustedly...I glared at her hatefully...

...instantly regretting it, because it absolutely confirmed that she had finally gotten to me...

...and God knows what_ that_ would lead to...

...and now, dirty and aching (from head to toe), I turned my back on Tiffy and her satanically-triumphant smile, and stormed off toward the school building, merely nodding when Ms. B., as I was passing her, asked if I was all right.

Fortunately, Phys. Ed was my last class, so I didn't have to face the showers...

...and whatever horrors Tiffy might have had in store for me there...

...and so, after dusting myself off as best I could and grabbing my stuff from my gym locker, I made a fast call to Grandad, telling him I wouldn't need a ride home; and then left the building and climbed onto the bus (which I now was entitled to do). Looking out my window, I watched as Tiffy and her goon Jessica got into a new, light blue convertible (which I'm pretty sure was Tiffy's, since she was driving), and pulled out of the parking lot...

...while I sat in silence, with my forehead pressed against the bus window, all the way home.

Twenty minutes later, as I limped through the front door and over to the living room couch, Grandad, not looking out from behind his newspaper asked, "Well, how did it go? Did you meet anyone today?"

"Yes, I did...I met a girl named Tiffany Myers!" I replied, quickly...

...eagerly anticipating the look of indignation on his face the instant I told him how horrible she'd been to me.

Immediately, he set his newspaper on the coffee table and looked up at me.

"Oh, yes, little Tiffy," he answered...

_...**with a fond smile**._

"I know her father Jack very well, he continued, "he's been a client of mine for years." (Grandad owns an accounting firm.) "Her maternal grandmother, Rebecca Mulford, donated the land for the school, and was also the building's main benefactor, and so it was named after her. Fine family," he added...

...and my heart plummeted...

...into a vat of icy water...

...as I realized that I could expect no support whatsoever from him.

Great. Just great.

Suddenly, Grandad's gaze dropped to my clothes

"Wow, you got dirty."

"Field hockey," I answered simply.

"Oh," he replied. "Anyway, I was just going to make tea; would you like some?"

Dejectedly, I shook my head.

No, I thought, no tea...

...and certainly no sympathy.

Heading (with considerable effort) to my room, I ditched my backpack and showered as quickly as I could...

...because, now desperate for an understanding audience, I needed to call Sam.

Unfortunately, she wasn't answering.

Wondering what she was doing (and hoping that it didn't involve orange jumpsuits), I left a message, asking her to call me as soon as she could.

Shortly after 7 pm, she did.

"Hi, Carls! How was your first day?"

"They hate me!" I blurted out, with my voice shaking badly. "All of them! They absolutely hate me!"

"Huh?" she replied, obviously confused. "That can't be right."

"It is! An-nd they d-do!" I blubbered, with my lower lip trembling.

"Aw, come on, Cupcake," she answered with a laugh, "how could _**anyone**_ possibly hate _**you**_?"

"They...they..." was all I could get out.

After almost a minute's silence on my end of the line, Sam, still sounding amused, asked, "So...what happened?"

"Well, like always, I was really friendly and outgoing," I replied, suddenly emboldened by my returning rage at how Tiffy had verbally trashed Sam, "but they-"

At that moment, however, I hesitated...

...because it had just occurred to me that this definitely _**was not**_ a good idea.

If I told her how horribly Tiffy and her cronies had treated me, even though she's broke Sam would find a way to come down here to Yakima...

...immediately...

and would then (single-handedly) pound all four of them to a pulp...

...and that's the last thing I needed.

Expulsion would definitely ruin my summer plans.

Moments later, she broke the silence.

"Look, Carls, whatever it is, just tell me," she urged...

...and, with a sinking heart I answered, "I can't. It's...it's complicated."

"Okay," she agreed, "then let's start at the beginning. What exactly are all these hundreds of haters saying to you?"

"Well, not much of anything," I admitted, (which, technically, was true since, thanks to Tiffy and her posse, no one else was talking to me...at all).

After mulling this information over for only a few seconds, Sam stated, "Well then, don't you see what's happening? Those hicks probably aren't used to having a famous celebrity like you around...so they're shy. Just give them a couple of days, and I'm sure they'll warm up to you...okay?"

"I don't know," I said slowly, "...maybe."

"Don't worry, Carls, I'm sure of it...so just give them a chance," she stated confidently...

...and, at those words, I decided to let the matter drop...

...before she figured out what had _really_ happened, and started taping up her knuckles.

Suddenly, she sneezed.

"God bless you."

"We can only hope!" she replied with a laugh, and then added, "Now, let's forget about school and talk about something much more interesting. You know those nineteen applications that I filed online the other day? I actually got four call backs already!"

Surprised and delighted, I answered, "Really? That's great! Which ones?"

"_Randall's_, _Shallingers_, _Dock Town_, and _The Boardwalk Grill,_" she rattled off...

...and then, unable to resist, I answered, "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I was looking at the list you gave me last night and...why is it that every single place you've applied to is somehow connected with food?" I teased.

"Uh...that was...an...um...a...coincidence," she mumbled...

...and, for the first time that day, I laughed.

"Somehow, I find that hard to believe," I announced, in an obviously fake, highly suspicious tone.

"Okay, okay!" she relented. "I figured that, since I'm going to be stuck working, that I might as well have perks!"

"Oh. I see," I replied gravely.

"But...does it matter, Carls?" she asked, obviously confused.

"Well, no," I admitted, "it's just that, given your history in the Food Service industry...I mean, look what happened when you worked at _Chili My Bowl_."

"Don't worry," she replied, "I'm doing my research this time...in advance. No food means no Sam! Besides, this job won't be nearly as bad...since we'll both be working in the same place."

**April 18th:**

Thank God the following day was Saturday...

...because, thanks to having been thoroughly beaten up on the hockey field the previous afternoon, every single inch of me ached.

Even my hair.

Somehow managing (with muscles protesting vehemently) to get out of bed, I dragged my sore self into the bathroom and soaked in a hot bath for nearly an hour...

...with my forehead on my knees...

...while doing my best to ignore the abundance of dark purple bruises which had cropped up overnight, and now covered my legs and arms...

...and while resolutely refusing to give in to the compelling urge to cry...

...because I refused to give that bitch Tiffy the satisfaction.

Suddenly, I heard Grandad tap on the bathroom door.

"Carly? As soon as you're finished in there, have some breakfast, and then meet me in the back yard. It looks like it's going to rain this afternoon, so I want to get the seedlings in the ground this morning."

An entire morning spent crawling around...

...on my battered knees and shins?

Oh.

My.

God.

At this prospect, even though I was naked, I desperately wanted to jump out the bathroom window and sprint into the next county.

There was only one way to avoid the entire excruciating ordeal, I realized...

…and, returning to my room, I strategically put on a pair of shorts.

Twenty minutes later, after a fast bowl of _Special J _cereal, I walked into the back yard and over to Grandad, who was kneeling in the last row of his garden plot, setting out the basil plants...

...stopping directly in front of him so that when he looked up, the first thing he'd see was my badly-abused shins.

As hoped, they had the desired effect.

"Wow!" he exclaimed. "What happened to you?"

"Field hockey."

He looked thoughtful for a long moment.

"Oh, I see. Well, there's no use in both of us getting muddy so, instead of helping me with this, why don't you sweep out the garage instead?" he said kindly.

Not exactly thrilled at that suggestion (but thankful that I wasn't going to have to crawl around in agony), I willingly did as he asked...

...while apprehensively wondering what else he had planned for me that day...

...and still managing to end up dirty anyway.

To my surprise, as soon as I'd finished sweeping Grandad gave me the rest of the day off; suggesting that I go clothes shopping, which I was only too happy to do. After a fast lunch, I took a shower and then Grandad drove me downtown...and left me...

...and, thankful that he hates shopping so much, I spent the entire afternoon alone, happily trying on clothes. I've never been one to copy what anyone else wears, but it had occurred to me that, under these particular circumstances, it couldn't hurt to try to fit in sartorially; so I kept in mind as I shopped that my classmates were a jeans, polos, and sweaters kind of crowd.

**April 19th:**

First thing Sunday morning Grandad and I went to church (which he does every week anyway); and once we'd had brunch downtown and had returned home, I found myself at a complete loss for something to do.

Grandad had (thankfully) gone over to Mrs. Payne's, so I was free of him for the time being...

...but both the public and school libraries were closed; which meant that I couldn't get on the computer and start my job search...

...and so, with no idea how to entertain myself, I decided to write a love letter to Sam...

...and spent the next two hours at my desk, throwing page after crumpled-up page into my wastebasket...

...because, no matter how hard I tried to sound sentimental and romantic...

...I just came off as needy and pathetic.

Finally, after more than fifteen attempts, I gave up.

After vowing to try again after a couple of days...

...when I had (hopefully) recovered from having been so physically and mentally traumatized...

...I wandered out into the back yard; and sat down at the picnic table...

..watching Grandad, as he grilled a couple of huge rib eye steaks for our dinner...

...while doing my best to ignore the annoyingly-inquisitive eyes that kept appearing on the other side of his fence...

...and while dreading the knowledge that I'd be walking back into Quad B in a few short hours.


	13. Chapter 13

**April 20th**:

Monday morning arrived all too soon. As usual, Sam called the night before...

...this time offering words of encouragement, promising that school would be much better than it had been on Friday...

...and afterward, once I'd spent almost two hours reflecting on the entire situation...I (finally) realized that there _was _hope...

...because even though Tiffy Myers was in every one of my classes, she couldn't watch me _every_ _single minute_ of the school day. After all, I could still approach kids in the school yard, the library, or even the bathrooms if I 'cased' these areas carefully first. And, as long as Tiffy wasn't in sight, I'll bet _someone _would be willing to talk to me...

...and she'd never have to know about it.

In addition, there was always the chance that my teachers would pair me up with another student for a school project, and then that person would _have_ to talk to me. After considering these possibilities, I felt considerably better..

...so much so that I had no problem falling asleep that night.

The following morning, I felt relatively confident that the day was going to be a good one...

...especially when I got dressed...

...because of the sweater I'd found during Saturday's shopping expedition. It was a gorgeous cream colored, V-neck lambswool, and I decided to wear it to school; along with the new jeans I'd bought, which were a beautiful shade of light blue called 'Fair Skies'.

Ten minutes later, I was standing in front of my bedroom mirror...smiling widely.

I looked great...

...and, even more importantly, I now fit in (more or less) with the way everyone else dressed.

As I entered the kitchen, I looked out the window and noticed Grandad, shovel in hand, tending to the back yard garden...

...and still feeling quite optimistic, I actually enjoyed my breakfast.

All too soon however, reality set back in...

...during another boring bus ride spent sitting by myself...

...in complete silence, since (despite my best efforts) no one would sit with/talk to me...

...and, within minutes, my absolute confidence began waning rapidly.

It plummeted even farther when I entered Quad B and saw that Tiffy had arrived ahead of me. Doing my best to ignore this, I glanced around the room hopefully...for a hint of a smile from any of my classmates; or any other indication...however slight...that even one of them might possibly be a candidate for cultivation.

Tiffy, noticing this, immediately began scanning the room too...

...wearing an indescribably menacing scowl...

...and the few people who _had_ glanced over in my direction as I'd entered immediately looked away.

Bitch!

Still determined to remain optimistic, I continued to look methodically from face to face, while wearing my most engaging and inviting smile...

...but predictably, their Tiffy-fueled apprehension hung over the room...like an impenetrable shroud...

...and finally, with a silent sigh, I took my seat.

Morning classes were (thankfully) drama free, which rekindled my spirit of hopefulness; and, as I exited the lunch line, tray in hand, I spied an empty seat at a table on the opposite side of the cafeteria from where Tiffy was 'holding court'. Confidently making my way over to it...

...I sat down without asking (which seemed pointless anyway)...

...hoping as I did that she and her goon squad wouldn't follow me over there and make another scene...

...and, much to my relief, they didn't. However, before I'd had the chance to properly celebrate...

….the four people seated with me grabbed their trays, stood up in unison, and walked off.

Damn!

What has she been telling everyone about me?

_And why the hell are they all so afraid of her? _

I managed to finish my plate of fish and chips, but it was just fuel that I was putting away; there was absolutely no taste involved.

Afternoon classes were (thankfully) as uneventful as the morning ones had been...

...and then I realized, to my horror, that it was time for Phys. Ed.

My numerous bruises from Friday had begun to fade; turning that familiar, nasty shade of purplish-yellowish-green; but my heart sank in anticipation of all the new ones I was about to acquire, during another afternoon spent facing Tiffy on the hockey field...

...until, glancing out the gymnasium windows, I saw the beginnings of a torrential downpour...

...and my heart soared.

There could be no going outside for class today!

After everyone had changed, Ms. Butcher led us out to the main area of the gym...

...where a full-size volleyball net had been set up...

...and, after appointing Tiffy and Marci as captains, she told them to pick their teams.

Less than five minutes later I was, of course, standing by myself. As it turns out there were an uneven number of girls...and since neither Tiffy or Marci wanted me...I was the 'odd man out'.

Noticing this, Ms. Butcher pulled her whistle off and hung it around my neck.

"Well, it looks like you're the referee," she informed me with a smile.

Before I'd had the chance to protest, she'd handed me a clipboard and pen and had disappeared back into her office...

...and with a sigh, I seated myself on the lowest bleacher bench...

...expecting the worst.

I didn't have long to wait.

Naturally, Tiffy served first...

...and, as you might expect, instead of going over the net, the ball 'accidentally' came flying in my direction...

...straight at my head.

If I'd been glancing down at my clipboard I wouldn't have noticed, and it would have slammed directly into my face.

Furious at this deliberate attack, but determined not to show it, I forced my face into an impassive expression and then kicked the ball back over to her...

...only to have it come right back less than two minutes later...

...and yet again two minutes after that.

And so it went.

By the end of the hour, I'd been whacked with the volleyball three times...

...but only one of those had been a direct hit...so all in all, I considered the class to have been a success.

On our way back into the locker room, Tiffy, who was just ahead of me, looked over Trace (who was walking next to her) and asked, "So, what was the diesel dyke saying to you in her office yesterday?"

Upon hearing this slur, which was obviously directed at Ms. Butcher, I bit my lip...hard...

...because, even though it's obvious that she's uh...same sex oriented, Ms. B. seems like a nice enough person.

Trace rolled her eyes.

"Well," she replied, "since I missed all those days last month...you know, when I sprained my wrist...she was asking me if I was interested in making the time up by doing some extra credit work for her."

Tiffy snorted, and then remarked, "I can just imagine what kind of project she had in mind...I'll bet it involved you lying on her desk...naked, with your legs wrapped around-"

"Yeah, right, Tiffy," Marci scoffed, "...like I'd ever spend more than two minutes alone with that low-life-Lezzie scum!"

(Somehow) resisting the compelling urge to reach forward with both hands and slam their heads together, I turned the corner instead, heading in the direction of my locker; but before I'd reached it I heard, "Carly, would you come in here for a minute?"

Looking over my shoulder, I saw Mrs. B's head disappear back inside her office...

...and, as I began walking toward it, I was (of course) forced to walk right past Tiffy, who sneered, "Hey, look everyone, it's the new Teacher's Pet. I'll bet you're in for a long tongue-lashing in there, so have fun!"

Despite doing my best to ignore the sycophantic laughter of her posse, I still felt my cheeks flush angrily. Entering the office, I closed the door behind me and walked over to Ms. Butcher's desk, which today was awash in a sea of papers.

"Have a seat," she said, gesturing to the chair on the opposite side of it.

With no idea what was about to happen, I sat down...

...and almost immediately, Mrs. B. leaned forward and across it...

...and smiled widely.

"Carly, I didn't really have a chance to talk to you yesterday," she began, "but I just wanted to tell you that I watch your show every week, and that I'm a _huge_ fan!"

I hadn't expected this revelation...

...or the barrage of questions that followed (Ms. Butcher was very curious about how we wrote and performed the show, why we were on hiatus, etc.)...

..and I answered every one of them graciously, because it was such a relief to find someone at that crap school who was actually willing to talk to me. Anyway, the next twenty minutes passed pleasantly enough...

...but then, as I was leaving the room, I reached for the doorknob, cringing...

...because I wasn't looking forward to enduring Tiffy's sarcastic explanation to the rest of the class as to why I had been in there for so long...

...but as it turns out, they were nowhere in sight...

...and, much to my relief, neither was she.

Aside from myself, the locker room was completely empty.

That afternoon I hadn't done anything resembling exercise, so I wasn't the least bit sweaty...

...and so, on any other day I would have changed my clothes, enjoying the solitude; but today that wasn't possible, so I quickly grabbed my backpack and left...

...because I realized that I had to hurry over to the school library before it closed.

It was time to start filling out job applications.

Before leaving home that morning, I'd spoken to Grandad; letting him know that I wouldn't be home until around 5:30, because I had some research to do.

Which wasn't even a lie.

I then told him that after the library closed I could just walk six blocks to Walnut street and take a city bus from there, which would drop me off only two blocks from the house; and upon hearing this, Grandad readily gave his consent.

As it turned out, all twelve of the library's computers were occupied when I arrived, but after only about ten minutes one became available, and I sat down at it. The first thing I did was to check my email in-box, which I hadn't had a chance to do over the weekend...

...and, as promised, Sam had sent me a list of all the Atlantic City businesses she'd applied to...

...as well as a separate, mushy email full of cyber-hugs...but as badly as I wanted to linger over this, I didn't.

I had a ton of applications to fill out.

Fortunately (thanks to Freddie), I knew about a website called_ Insta-Form_; whose cut-and-paste feature can be used to fill out any number of different online documents quickly; and this made the process of applying to nineteen different places go a lot faster. I was just finishing when librarian came over to shoo me out; and looking up, I was surprised to see that, having been so completely immersed in my work, I hadn't even noticed as the now-deserted library had emptied.

Five minutes later, I was walking toward Walnut street and the bus stop...

...through the persistent rain, which at least had tapered off to an annoying drizzle...

...and by the time I finally did climb onto the 553, I was damp, cold, and clammy...

...but I didn't care in the least.

Mission accomplished!

Less than half an hour later, when I walked through Grandad's front door, I was surprised to smell barbecue sauce...

...and even more surprised as I glanced through the kitchen doorway, to see that dinner was already on the table.

Grandad looked up from the large salad bowl on the counter, into which he'd been grating carrots.

"Well, right on time," he observed. "That's good."

Tossing my backpack onto the couch, I walked into the kitchen and over to the sink.

While drying my hands, I looked back over my shoulder and said, "I wasn't expecting to find dinner ready. Do you have to go somewhere this evening?"

"Yes," he replied, "so have a seat and get started."

"Because if I don't, it will get cold," I stated agreeably.

"No," he answered, "because we have to hurry over to Mrs. Payne's."

"W-we?" I asked, feeling my knees buckle under me as my butt hit the chair (which, fortunately was directly under me) with a loud 'whump'...

...as I felt my insides shrivel up.

"Yes...we," he confirmed. "I promised her that, right after dinner you and I would clear out her reading room and cover all the furniture. I have to paint tomorrow."

"B-but...doesn't she have like...thousands of books in there?" I asked...

...while accidentally (and apprehensively) knocking the bowl of mashed potatoes over on its side. As I quickly and clumsily righted it, Grandad answered, "Well, I've never actually counted them, but there certainly are a lot; and she can't move them herself, not since she's had that hip replacement surgery."

"But...we'll be at it all night!" I protested.

"Not the whole night," he corrected, "but we probably _will_ be there for most of the evening."

"But...I have to...uh...study!" I interjected quickly...

...determined not to give in without a fight.

Grandad looked up from his plate and frowned, asking, "Didn't you just study after school for two hours?"

"Well, yeah," I admitted, "but I...also, uh...have to call Sam!"

He shook his head.

"No, Carly, not tonight. We already have this obliga-"

"But she and I talk every evening!" I argued, trying hard to keep my tone of voice calm; hoping that if I didn't freak out he'd change his mind and let me. After all, Sam's calls are my only link with the outside world...

...and with my sanity.

"It won't kill you to skip talking to her for one night," Grandad observed dryly...

...and completely inaccurately.

"Please?" I begged, as I felt my panic beginning to mount rapidly. "Please let me talk to her...for just five minutes? I swear it will only be for five minutes!"

Grandad mulled it over for a bit.

"Okay; I guess we can spare five minutes," he conceded.

"Thanks!" I replied, pushing my chair back...

...but he shook his head again.

"No Carly. Call her here at the table."

"B-but...why can't I just-"

"Because we both know that if you go to your room, five minutes will turn into an hour-and-a-half," he replied.

"But-"

"Do you want to call Sam?" he asked.

"Yes...of course I do, but-"

"Then call her right here. Right now."

There was no other alternative...

...and, with a sigh, I fished my phone out of my pocket.

Fortunately she picked right up.

"Hey, Carls," she answered cheerfully. "How was school?"

"The same," I replied...

...realizing that there was no need to get into any of that right now...

...especially not in front of Grandad.

"Don't worry; it's all going to be fine, so just give it time," she replied, with depressingly-clueless-confidence...

...and I decided to let the matter drop.

"So, I'm sitting here at the kitchen table..._with Grandad_," I said pointedly...

...letting her know not to expect any to hear any mushy sentiments from me this evening, and then continued, "Anyway, I can only talk for five minutes, but I just wanted to let you know that I got your email, uh...recently...and...and uh-"

"And you've already applied...to all nineteen places?" she asked hopefully.

"Yep."

"Yay!" she yelled. "So, why can't you talk for more than a few minutes...what does the old dictator have planned for you this evening?"

We're going next door to Mrs. Payne's house, to empty out one of her rooms so it can be painted."

"Wow, that sounds like a ton of fun," she answered...

...in an annoyingly-amused tone of voice. "Hey, Carls," she continued, "that reminds me of this one time when-oh, is that your other line?"

"No...it's Grandad's phone," I told her, watching as he hit its 'on' button and then began talking in a low tone. Less than a minute later, he was putting it back into his pocket.

"Carly...you need to say goodbye to Sam now," he announced.

"But...it hasn't even been five minutes yet!"

"Tell her you're sorry and that you'll call her tomorrow," he replied.

"B-but-"

"Carly, do as I say. That was Mrs. Payne. She has to go out of town this evening, and her ride is waiting for her; so she wants us to get over there as quickly as possible."

"Don't worry, Carls," Sam interjected, "I heard all of that."

"I'm so sor-" I began.

"Don't you dare apologize!" she admonished me. "It's fine. Call me later if you can; but if not, then tomorrow afternoon, as soon as you get home from school...okay?"

"Yes," I sighed.

"You know I love you, Cupcake."

"Back at ya," I answered immediately...

...with as much affection as I dared to, since Grandad was sitting right across from me.

And then, without another word, I hung up.

Ten minutes later, after I'd eaten what I could (which wasn't much, since I was dreading the awful evening that lay ahead of me **and** resenting the fact that I'd spoken to Sam for only two minutes)...

...I got up from the kitchen table.

"Where are you going?" Grandad asked, when he saw me heading toward my room.

"The...bathroom," I replied. "And then I want to change my sneakers...and my shirt. I got pretty damp from the rain."

"All right," he agreed, "but before you do, leave your phone on the kitchen counter to recharge."

I hadn't expected this.

"What..._why?_" I asked.

"Because we have a long evening ahead of us."

"B-but-"

"Now, Carly," he repeated.

Damn!

He wasn't going to let me call her again...either while I was in my room, or while I was over at Mrs. P's...

...which, I admit, I had been planning to do in the privacy of her bathroom...

...and, now furious, I stomped over to the kitchen counter and plugged my phone in...

...and then stomped down the hall and into the bathroom.

After peeing I walked, still fuming, into my bedroom, where I changed my shirt and put my crummy sneakers on; and then I decided that, before leaving I might as well hang up the outfit I'd worn that day, before it got wrinkled...

...and so, I opened my backpack and pulled out my new sweater and jeans...

...gasping loudly, half a second later...

...in utter shock and disbelief...

...as I saw that they both were completely covered...front and back..in bold, black letters, written in a hasty scrawl...

_...with a wide-tipped, permanent Sharpo marker._

I'd loved that outfit..._so much..._and I'd only worn it once...

...and now it was completely ruined.

Even more upsetting was what had been written:_** TWAT LICKER! DYKE! FUCKING FREAK OF NATURE!**_

There was more...a lot more...but you get the idea.

And I knew exactly who was responsible..._and_ that she must have done it while I was in Ms. B's office...

...but how had she _ever_ managed to guess the combination to my gym lock?

Even worse, it was now too late to show Ms. Butcher, I realized...

...as I began kicking myself over and over. Why the hell hadn't I opened my backpack this afternoon...even once? If I had, I'd have seen this and would have been able to report it...and Tiffy...to Ms. B.

But now it was too late. The school was closed and Ms. B. was long gone; and if I showed her my clothes tomorrow, Tiffy would just deny it all, saying that I'd written it myself, after I got home, because I was pissed off at her for some trivial thing.

And now, way beyond livid...and very near tears...

...I ran back into the bathroom.

Grabbing onto both sides of the sink, I bowed my head over it, struggling not to cry...

...but failing utterly...

...and then, to my complete disgust, I began to sob.

Why had this happened?

_WHY?_

What had I_ EVER_ done to her, to deserve any of-

"Carly! Come on, we have to get over there," Grandad's voice interrupted.

"C-c-coming!" I answered. Somehow forcing myself to stop crying, I quickly washed my face, and then tore into my bedroom and over to my closet. Grabbing one of my two now-empty suitcases, I opened it, stuffed my destroyed jeans and sweater inside, and then shoved it back into the closet...

...into the farthest dark corner.

I'd dispose of them later.

I just couldn't deal with it right now.

Worst of all, I couldn't even call Sam and talk to her; because, even though I had no intention of telling her exactly what had happened (and inciting the riot that would probably lead to my expulsion), I suddenly, desperately, needed to hear her voice.

And then, with my head pounding painfully, I hurried back up the hall and put my jacket on...

...deliberately avoiding making eye contact with Grandad, since he'd want to know why mine were now so red.

I was silent as we walked next door.

Mercifully, Mrs. Payne left almost immediately...

...but less than a minute later, I found myself standing in the middle of her spacious reading room, with at least forty empty boxes at my feet...

...while staring at the floor-to-ceiling shelves that covered three walls of the room...

...each and every one of them crammed full of books.

It was gonna be a long night! And all that I had to keep me company was Grandad...

...and my own burning fury...

...which I then decided that I might as well use to my advantage...

...and so I began working with a vengeance...

...shoving stack after stack of books into boxes, and lifting each one easily...thanks to my hate-fueled adrenaline rush...

...and because I just wanted to get it all over with and get the hell out of there.

Grandad noticed.

"Don't hurt yourself," he observed as I effortlessly lifted a huge, full box from the floor.

"Gotta finish...gotta study," I answered, in an odd-sounding growl, as I staggered toward the living room and dropped it next to the others.

In reality, I desperately needed to get home and talk to Sam.

Thanks to my seething rage, what under normal circumstances would have been at least a four hour project was completely finished in just under two.

Once the bookshelves were completely bare, we pushed every piece of furniture into the center of the room and covered them with the fugly flowered sheets that Mrs. Payne had provided...

...and then, to my utter relief, we were done.

The instant we walked back into our house I hurried to the kitchen and snatched my phone off the counter...

...almost dropping it when I heard Grandad's voice directly behind me.

"No, Carly, no more phone calls."

I spun around to face him.

"B-but-"

"No," he repeated, "didn't you say earlier that you needed to study?"

"Well, yeah" I admitted, "but-"

"And didn't you promise me that you'd only talk to Sam for five minutes tonight?" he added.

"Well yeah...but I _didn't_ get to talk to her for five minutes!" I reminded him.

"There's always tomorrow...so no more phone tonight. Now go hit the books," he concluded...

_...while taking the phone from my hand..._

...and placing it back on the counter. And then, before I'd recovered sufficiently from my shock to protest, he took hold of my shoulders and gently but firmly turned me around...

...pointing me in the direction of my bedroom.

After slamming the door...

...I paced my room in a towering rage, for at least twenty minutes...

...while frequently wiping away the tears that were slowly but steadily running down my cheeks (despite my most valiant efforts to hold them back)...

...until, finally realizing that I wasn't accomplishing anything, I flung myself into my desk chair.

I couldn't live like this anymore...

...and I couldn't even talk to Sam about it, and that was killing me...

...so I needed to come up with some kind of solution.

Right Now.

About an hour earlier, while I'd been lugging Mrs. P's damned books, it had occurred to me that there was only one way that Tiffy could have broken into my locker: Because she'd somehow managed (probably through her aunt Liz's cooperation or negligence) to get hold of the principal's master locker key...

...and so I'd already decided that, on the way home from school the next afternoon, I'd walk an extra three blocks to_ Murphy's Hardware_ and buy a new combination lock...

...one without a master keyhole in back.

Still, that only solved one small facet of my problem; I realized, continuing to sit there consumed by equal parts rage and hurt.

Why did Tiffy hate me so much? Was it because she considered me to be competition? That was absurd. I was only going to be there for six weeks...and then would be going to back to Seattle for my senior year, so why did she feel so threatened? And why did she persist in making my life hell?

Putting my elbows on the desk, I leaned forward and rested my aching head in my hands, knowing that I'd never make it through the next month and a half at school, since not one single person was willing to talk to me.

But then, in a flash, I realized that I was wrong.

Very wrong...

...because there _was_ one person who _would_.

Why hadn't it occurred to me before?

Ms. Butcher.

That afternoon, she'd made a point of telling me how much she liked the show...

...which meant that she also liked me; after all, she'd chatted with me for twenty minutes...

...the only happy ones I'd ever spent at that awful school...

...and profoundly thankful that I actually did have an ally, I slumped the rest of the way forward in my chair. And, as I sat there, with my my left cheek resting directly against the desktop's cool wooden surface, I actually smiled.

This wasn't going to be so horrible after all.

Ms. B. liked me _and _she liked the show...

...and thrilled that I was finally going to have someone to talk to...

...and such a devoted fan at that...

...I suddenly decided that I wanted to do something for her, to show my appreciation...

...something huge.

But...what?

I lay there without moving, considering the problem...

...and, less than five minutes later, I had my answer.

Getting up from my desk, I crossed the room to the lowboy dresser on its opposite side and opened the second drawer from the top.

The one that contained my shirts.

If you've been watching iCarly for any length of time you'll remember that three months ago, Sam and I hosted a major contest on our website, called _No __More __Nevel!_ We invited all of our fans to write in, sharing their most creative ideas for helping us to (permanently) get rid of our arch enemy, Nevel Papperman. Twelve winners were to be chosen and each would receive the same prize: A very Limited Edition iCarly T-shirt, with graphics designed by Sam (who's a really good artist).

At our request Socko's sister Penny had produced the twelve shirts for us; but after the contest ended and the winners had been announced, only eleven were mailed out.

The twelfth shirt was never claimed; and our repeated efforts to contact the final winner and get his address failed...

...and so, for nearly three months, it had remained on a shelf in the studio. Since I'd mentioned to Sam (more than once) how much I liked her artwork, she eventually insisted on giving the shirt to me, and I'd brought it along to Yakima, intending to wear it...

...but so far I hadn't had the chance.

And so, it now resided in my second dresser drawer, still wrapped in its original plastic, along with its certificate of authenticity. Fortunately, it was a size XL so it definitely would fit Ms. B., who has what you might call a 'sturdy build'.

I couldn't wait to give it to her the next day.

Tuesday morning, after three classes of being ignored (which I didn't mind, since I'd be chatting with Ms. B. that afternoon), I entered the cafeteria's dining room, lunch tray in hand, to find that it was even more crowded than usual; which actually was to my advantage...

...because when I sat down, my table mates had nowhere to move to, and were obliged to sit with me...

...even though they spent the entire hour with their eyes on their own trays. How childish, I thought, but soon understood their motives...

...when I glanced over in the direction of the 'cool' people's table and saw Tiffy glaring over toward my own.

As it turns out, Algebra class ran late that afternoon, so I had no chance to talk to Ms. B before gym; but that was okay...

...it could wait for an hour.

Since the boys were using the hockey field for soccer practice that afternoon, we ended up playing _Dodge Ball_ indoors; and, well...you can imagine the rest.

While attempting to keep one eye on Tiffy (who delighted in slamming me from behind), I kept my other one on the gymnasium's clock, as I counted down each long, excruciating minute. Finally, the last bell rang...

...and, determined to thwart any new plans Tiffy might have for my clothes, I ran like a maniac to my locker. Pulling my backpack from it, I checked its contents carefully; relieved to see that she hadn't had a chance to ruin anything; and then, after refolding my shirt and jeans carefully, I put everything back inside it...with the iCarly T-shirt on top...

...and then, smiling widely with anticipation, I walked toward the office.

The door was closed.

Wondering whether Ms. Butcher was inside, I looked through window beside it, immediately catching her eye; and, with an apologetic smile, she pointed to the phone in her right hand and then held up two fingers. Realizing that this meant she'd be with me in a couple of minutes, I nodded agreeably; and, dropping my backpack at my feet, I leaned against the cinder block wall next to the door and closed my eyes...

...relieved to feel its cool surface mercifully taking some of the sting out of my badly-abused back. A minute later, at the sound of footsteps, I opened them again...

...to see Tiffy, who had already changed changed her clothes approaching. Heart sinking and fury rising, I instinctively leaned forward slightly and raised my arms a bit, thinking that she might try to swing her bulging backpack at my head, but she didn't.

Stopping a mere foot from where I stood, she looked me up and down.

"What's this, Carly?" she asked. "Back to suck some more lezzie ass?"

Don't you talk about Ms. B. that way!" I answered hotly.

Tiffy smiled indulgently.

"Aw, standing up for the dyke you love? Isn't that sweet," she replied. "But, what will Sam do when she finds out that you're fucking around behind her back...and with someone so much butcher than she is...Butcher...get it?" she added, while laughing at her own stupid joke.

And then, finally, I decided instead that it was way past time to 'set her straight'; and so, speaking with as much civility as possible, I began, "Look, Tiffy-"

"No," she immediately interrupted, "_you_ look! I don't know what makes you think you're God's gift to this world...or this school, but you need to get over the delusion that you're so bloody superior to everyone!"

"What are you talking about?" I shot back. "Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am _NOT_ not a snob. The_ real _problem here, Tiffy, is that you're constantly projecting your own insecurities and low self-esteem onto me; and I know you have all of the students here in your back pocket...and maybe most of the teachers...but I have no interest in trying to compete with you anyway, so you can just-"

"That's a laugh! You couldn't_ possibly_ compete with...and you have no right to say something like about a teacher!" she answered loudly.

This unexpected change of direction...right in the middle of her sentence caught me off guard.

"Huh...like what?" I asked, having no idea what she was referring to.

Tiffy drew herself up to her full height, answering, "No matter who Ms. Butcher chooses to love, you have no right to say such hateful things! I'm getting tired of listening to you call her a sick, twisted freak, and a diesel dyke; and if it doesn't stop, then I'm going-"

Now honestly believing that she was crazy as well as evil, I answered, "Shut up, Tiffy! You know as well as I do that Ms. Butcher-"

And then, suddenly, I stopped speaking...

...because I realized what was happening...

...and, with my heart in my throat, I immediately spun around...

...to see Ms. B. standing behind me, just inside her doorway...

...staring at me in stunned disbelief.

And judging from her expression, it was obvious that she'd bought Tiffy's lie completely.

And then, I realized the implications of what I'd just said.

Oh.

My.

God.

Why hadn't I finished my last sentence? _**Why?**_ If I had, Ms. B. would have realized that I was telling Tiffy that Ms. B. would never believe her lies...

...but instead, what I'd said sounded exactly like I'd been about to insult Ms. B...again.

"Ms. Butcher...it-it's not-" I began...

...but she immediately turned her gaze away from me...

...and over to my arch enemy.

"Yes, Tiffy, what can I do for you?" she asked...

...with an unmistakeable tremor in her voice; but one which I couldn't identify as either hurt or anger.

"With a hypocritical smile, Tiffy answered, "Well, Ms. Butcher, I'm here because I wanted to talk to you about something...actually a couple of things now," she added...

...while shooting a filthy look at me.

And then, ignoring the pleading look in my eyes...

...which begged her to at least listen my side of the story...

...Ms. B. nodded.

"Of course, Tiffy. Come on in."

"Mrs. B! Please just let-" was as far as I got...

...before she closed the door behind her...

...with Tiffy and herself on the other side of it.

Panicking wildly, I immediately turned and pressed my nose against the glass of the office window; to see Ms. B. was now seated behind her desk...

...looking grave and nodding occasionally...

...as Tiffy, while gesturing over toward the door frequently, did most of the talking...

...which was not good at all.

After about ten minutes, the little bitch stood up, unzipped her over-stuffed backpack, and then walked around to the other side of the desk, to where Ms. B. was sitting. She appeared to be taking something out of it, but since her body was blocking my view, I had no idea what was going on...

...or what Ms. Butcher's reaction to it was.

Finally, about five minutes later, I saw them both stand up and head out of the room so I abandoned my position by the window and stood facing the door...

...trembling in both fear and rage...

...waiting.

A moment later, Ms. B. opened it and then stood aside; and as Tiffy walked past me, it took every single shred of my resolve to refrain from sticking my foot out and sending her sprawling...

...right onto that smug, lying face of hers.

Noticing that I was still there...waiting...Ms. B hastily averted her eyes and swung the door shut...

...but I immediately jammed my foot inside it...

...and, while doing my best to ignore the blindingly-painful result of that action, I begged, "Please, Ms. Butcher...please just let me talk to you...just for a minute!"

Still not looking at me, she wavered for a moment...

...and then, without answering, she let go of the doorknob and walked back into her office...

...and, unsure if that was an invitation, but desperate to set things straight, I hurried inside after her.

As I approached her desk, where she was already seated...

...the first thing I noticed lying on its surface was the huge, open box of chocolate-covered pretzels...

...at least five pounds' worth...

...which most definitely _had_ _not_ been there before Tiffy had arrived...

...and which, obviously, had been a gift from that filthy, disgusting, ass-kissing hypocrite! And then , suddenly, I realized why Tiffy had come to Ms. B's office in the first place: She believed that I was about to rat her out for wrecking my clothes the day before, and was here to (pre-emptively) discredit me. However, I didn't have time to dwell on that; and so I sat down across from Ms. B...

...who was looking back at me, wearing a jarring combination of seriousness and thinly veiled hurt...

...and, despite having absolutely no idea how to even begin to resolve the problem, I plunged right in.

"Look, Ms. Butcher," I began, "I have no idea what horrible things Tiffy was saying about me in here, but-"

"Well, as it turns out, Carly," Ms. B. cut me off, "she was_ begging_ me not to report you."

This was completely unexpected...

...and aware that my entire body was now trembling...violently...I replied, "What! What do you mean by 'report me'?"

Still looking grave/defensive, Ms. B. answered, "She told me that, as despicable and ignorant as your behavior has been, that some people have the misfortune of growing up in intolerant households...with intolerant parents...and that this obviously was the case with you...so we should just feel sorry for you...and that I shouldn't go to the principal and report you, which would definitely lead to your expulsion...since Principal Anderson doesn't tolerate harassment...of either students or teachers."

"Wh-what? B-but I n-never-" I spluttered, unable to believe what I'd just heard. "Tiffy just...she has it in for me...she has since I started here...and now-"

"I'm sorry, Carly," she interrupted, "but I find that impossible to believe. All of the evidence is against you."

"Wh-what evidence?"

Ms. B. shook her head and sighed.

"Carly, if you hadn't said any of those things, then Tiffy wouldn't have spent the last ten minutes defending you," she replied. "Don't you see...if she 'had it in for you', then she'd be _encouraging_ me to report you; and, since she was begging me _not __to_, then I have no choice but to believe her instead of you."

"B-but, Ms. Butcher...I didn't say anything like that! I _swear_ I didn't...I _wouldn't_!" I blurted out, ignoring the tears that were beginning to sting the corners of my eyes and threatening to roll down my cheeks...

...not only because Tiffy had lied so utterly...

...but also because I realized that there was only one way I could possibly prove it...

...so, taking a deep, shaky breath, I continued, "And the reason I w-would never say anything like that is b-because I'm...I'm-"

As my voice trailed off...

...Ms. B. sat looking at me...

...silently and expectantly...

...for nearly a minute...

...while I sat there struggling. Struggling to tell her what I'd never told anyone except for Sam...

...but, to my horror, I found that I couldn't.

Ms. B. was gay herself...so why couldn't I just say it? Was it because I was afraid that Tiffy might find out?

Why couldn't I just say it?

_Why?_

And then, Ms. B. decided that she had waited long enough...

...for me to try to come up with some lame excuse to cover up my 'lies'.

"Your bus is leaving in less than ten minutes," she announced...

...signifying that the subject was now officially closed.

"No...j-just let m-me-" I persisted...

...but Ms. B. just shook her head...

...while I sat there in shock.

After the friendly chat the two of us had had yesterday, how could she _possibly_ believe Tiffy?

And why wouldn't she even listen to my side of things?

And, since she wouldn't, what could I possibly do to change her mind?

But then, suddenly (thank God), I knew exactly what I needed to do.

I needed to stop arguing...

..._immediately_...

...and to just give Ms. B. the shirt...

...and to then walk away without another word...

...and to give her time to think things over...

...because, after she had, she'd definitely realize that I wouldn't have bothered to bring her a rare, individually numbered shirt, Limited Edition iCarly T-shirt if I hated her for being gay.

Once she's had a chance to reflect, she'll know for a fact that I didn't say any of those things, and then Ms. B. and I can pick up our friendship where we left off, I thought; and feeling relieved, I got up from my chair and unzipped my backpack.

Walking around where Ms. B. was sitting I pulled the shirt from it and, without a word, I laid it directly in front of her on the desk. As I did, I saw her eyes widening; and I knew why...

...it was because she knew about the contest on iCarly...

...and _exactly_ what that shirt represented...

...and, incredibly relieved, I walked toward the door.

Just as I opened it, I heard her say, in an odd voice, "Carly...wait."

And, turning around, I saw Ms. B. getting up from her desk and walking toward me...

...and eager to let her know that there were absolutely no hard feelings, I immediately extended my hand...

...to shake hers...

...but then, I gasped in shock...

...and, looking down, I saw that what was in it was not her own hand...

...but the iCarly T-shirt.

Looking up at her, unable to conceal the hurt in my eyes, I saw her looking back at me...

...equally hurt.

"You...you dropped something...over by my desk," she murmured sadly...

...and then, before I could think of any reply at all...

...she stepped back inside her office and closed the door.

Now livid that Tiffy had ruined my barely-begun friendship with Ms. B., I skipped taking the bus and instead walked..._**stormed**_...all the way home...

...stopping only to buy a new combination lock...

...one without master key hole in back.

When I stomped up the front drive, I heard the sound of the garden hose coming from the back yard...

...which was fine with me, because I was in no mood to deal with Grandad at the moment...

...or with anyone else for that matter.

Slamming my bedroom door, I flung my backpack onto the bed and began pacing rapidly and angrily...

...but stopped after only a minute or two, because my phone was ringing.

It was Sam.

"Hi Carls!" she began cheerfully, "Whatcha doin'?"

"_**Trying to decide which of these four walls to slam my fist through!" **_

"Aw, man," she groaned, "what's he doing to you now?"

"_**Not him...school!"**_ I snarled...

...immediately regretting it...

...because I realized what was inevitable now:

A lengthy interrogation.

And, sure enough, after a relatively short stretch of silence on Sam's end of the line...

...I heard an unmistakeable sigh...

...and then, "Carls?"

"Uh, yeah?" I replied...

...cringing with dread.

"Let's have it," she replied.

"Let's have...what?" I asked...

...despite knowing full well what she was referring to.

"The truth."

"What do you mean?" I asked innocently, while frantically stalling for time.

"Come off it, Carls, you know as well as I do that there's something you're not telling me."

"But...uh..." I began.

"Carls," she interrupted, "Spill. Now."

In my best puzzled tone of voice, I asked, "What exactly are you referring to?"

She immediately replied, "Do I have to spell it out for you? Okay, fine. It's obvious that there's a lot more to this..._'school thing'_ than meets the well...the _ear_; and I want to know exactly what's going on. What is it that has you so upset?"

"I'm sorry, Sam, but I...I can't tell y-"

"Come on, you know you want to," she replied...

...in an incredibly knowing voice.

Unfortunately, that girl can read me like a book.

"Well, yeah," I admitted, "I do...but I can't!"

"Why not?" she persisted.

How to answer that one?

"Because, you see, um, I...they-"

"Come on, Cupcake, tell me and I promise that everything will be oka-hey wait a minute!" she stopped abruptly before continuing (in a highly suspicious tone) "...is someone hurting you? If they are I'll fucking kill th-"

"See?" I interjected...loudly. "_This_ is why I don't want to tell you!"

"Then someone _**is**_ hurting you!" she answered, with unmistakeable fury rising in her voice. "Look, do you remember my Uncle Marco...the one who drives a taxi? Well, he owes me seventy bucks...and, instead of cash, I'm going to let him pay me back with a free, round trip ride to Yakima...and I can be there in a little less than four hou-"

"No!" I yelled. "You _can't!_"

"Why not?" she replied, sounding genuinely confused that I'd pass up a chance to let her defend me...

...and equally disappointed that I'd pass up a chance to spend time with her.

"Two words, Sam," I replied, "Summer School!"

"But-"

"No Sam!" I insisted. "I can't get into trouble...or our entire summer together will be ruined!"

Long stretch of silence.

"Well yeah, I...guess," she finally conceded...

...grudgingly...

...which was followed by an audible sigh.

After an additional minute's silence, she added, "Carls...just tell me...please."

"Do you promise not to-" I began.

"No," she admitted...

...and I answered...quickly (and loudly), "Then just forget about-"

"Okay, okay! I promise!" she agreed...

...sounding obviously reluctant...

...but, convinced that she'd keep her word, I began, "Well, it's like this. There's this uh, group of four girls in my class, you know, kind of a clique...and they-"

"And they won't let you join?" Sam cut in. "Since when have you ever cared about-"

"No, it's...it's not that," I added quickly. "It's more that they...they bully all the other kids into ignoring me completely. And now-"

"Screw them!" she replied...

...suddenly and loudly. "Screw them all! You're only going to be there for six weeks anyway, so why should you care if none of them will talk to you?"

"Well, because it's...it's worse than that." I paused for a moment...

...wondering how much I should tell her. After a long moment's deliberation, I continued, "You see, yesterday, someone...broke into my locker and ruined my clothes...with a permanent marker."

Immediately , I heard a rustling of papers and then Sam stating, "Okay, here's a pen. Names?"

"I am _NOT_ naming names!" I declared. "Because I know that if I do, you'll-"

"Okay, okay!" she conceded. "_Don't_ tell me who they are...but did you show your wrecked clothes to the teacher?"

"No...I would have, but I didn't notice until I got home."

"Well," she continued, suddenly sounding very business-like, "the first thing you need to do is to buy a new lock...one without a master key-"

"Already taken care of," I assured her...

...realizing as I did that I _didn't_ _dare_ tell her the rest of the story...

...about how they were also brutally physically abusing me...

...because if I did, she'd kill them all.

**April 22nd**:

On Wednesday, a bright spot (finally) appeared in the disaster-ravaged landscape of my life...

...when Spencer called, confirming that he'd finally received Dad's letter, granting me permission to spend the summer in Atlantic City.

"What a relief!" I paused for a moment. "But, Spencer, what something happens to it...like, what if your apartment building burns down? Or what if-"

"Will you stop being so paranoid?" he cut in. "Since I bring the casino nightclub sketches home with me every evening, and they're irreplaceable, the first thing I did when I began the project was to buy a fireproof box. Dad's letter is in there, too, so it's perfectly safe."

Two days later, another bright spot appeared on the horizon...

...well, three actually, because that's how many calls I received from prospective employers...

...each of them offering to schedule me for interviews as soon as I got to Atlantic City...

...and then, two days later I got four more...

...and gradually, I found that my hellish existence was becoming slightly more bearable. School still sucked of course...

...but, as much as Tiffy still hated me, she hadn't had the chance to viciously retaliate against me again...

...because her schedule wouldn't allow it. Fortunately, she had been designated as the head coordinator of Mulford's Junior Prom Committee, and therefore had other things on her mind...

...but not so many that she had forgotten that she still needed to 'keep me line'...

...and so the bitch continued, despite her hectic schedule, to keep a constant watchful eye on the entire student body...

...making absolutely sure that everyone kept their distance and that no one was making any attempt to befriend me...

...and, as expected, no one did. What I didn't understand, though, was how every single one of them could be so terrified of her...

...but, only a week later, I found out why.

One otherwise uneventful Tuesday afternoon, two girls farther down my gym locker line were having a conversation...

...and, upon hearing Tiffys name mentioned, I slid down the bench toward them, getting as close as possible without it being obvious that I was listening in...

...and, long story short, it turns out that during the past three years, Tiffy managed to get two teachers fired, seven students suspended, and three expelled. Apparently, this was done by setting them up...

...carefully and deliberately...

...and then having her three goons back her up, taking her side against her unsuspecting, undeserving victims...

...who she made sure to attack when they were alone, so there were no other witnesses.

And so, the days dragged on, but I continued to focus my attention...laser-like...on the light at the end of the tunnel...

...and eventually, one long, torturous day began to blur into another...

...until, mercifully, there were only two weeks left before the last day of school.

During those previous few weeks, Sam and I had both received a couple of additional responses and offers for interviews, and that Thursday evening she called me...

...because, having decided that we both wanted to work at the same place, it was time to begin narrowing down the list of possibilities.

"How about _Dock Town Tavern_?" she asked. "I looked it up on Gaggle maps, and it's only two blocks from Spencer's apartment."

At this suggestion, I glanced down at the two pieces of yellow legal paper lying side-by-side in front of me...

...one with her name at the top and one with mine...

...and locating _Dock Town Tavern_ on both lists, I circled them.

"But then again," she continued, "_Randall's Bakery_ pays about the same, and the lady who runs it told me that, at the end of every day, I can take any unsold donuts home with me!"

I smiled.

"You know, Sam...working in a bakery is a pretty tough gig. You'll have to wake up every morning by four a.m.," I pointed out.

"Crap!" she replied. "I never knew that!" She was silent for a moment. "You know though, it might not be so bad, because after the shift ends we can just walk two blocks to the beach and sleep there all day."

"Well...we'll see," I replied, adding, "Okay, I circled that one too. Hey, what about-oh, wait...it's my other line."

She told me to go ahead and answer it, and I switched over.

"Hey, Kiddo!" Spencer boomed. "I was going to call you tomorrow, but I'm going to be in and out of meetings all day, so I'm not sure when I'll be finished. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that, as soon as I do get home I'm going to call the airline and make arrangements for Sam's and your plane tickets, " he added...

...and my heart soared.

All in all, it turned out to be a pretty good evening; not only because Sam and I were able to talk for nearly an hour, but also because I knew that, thanks to an afternoon teacher's conference, there was only going to be a half day of school tomorrow.

What I hadn't counted on was that the massive thunderstorm we had that night would knock the power out temporarily while I slept...

...at around one am...

...setting my alarm clock display back to twelve midnight...

...and causing me to wake up late.

The instant I realized this, I flew out of bed. Fortunately, I had only overslept by half an hour...

...and so I could still make it on time if I took an incredibly fast shower, skipped breakfast, and ran like a homicidal, axe-wielding maniac for the school bus stop.

Ordinarily (aside from a long lecture on punctuality from Grandad), being late for school wouldn't have been that big of a deal; but lately, due an epidemic of tardiness (and apathy) on the part of Mulford's students, there had been a huge crackdown by the faculty; accompanied by stiff penalties...

...and, on that particular day, I was in no mood for wasting an entire free afternoon in detention.

And so, after taking the fastest shower in recorded history, I threw on clean clothes, grabbed my backpack, and tore out of my room and up the hallway...

...to find Grandad sitting at the kitchen table.

"I thought you'd already left," he observed as I flung an orange and a banana into my open backpack and grabbed a piece of toast from the pile on the table. Shaking my head, I stuffed the toast into my mouth and, after quickly checking my watch, I ran for the front door.

Just as I was hurling myself through it, Grandad spoke up.

"Carly...wait.

As I skidded to a halt and spun around to face him, he continued, "Have you seen the long scissors? The ones with the orange handles? They're not in the kitchen drawer, and there are a couple of articles in yesterday's paper that I want to cut out and save."

I quickly pulled my half-eaten toast out of my mouth.

"Yeah, they're on my desk...borrowed them yesterday...half day of school...I wish I didn't have to go in at all...see you around one-thirty...bye!" I replied, quickly shutting the door and tearing down the driveway.

I really need to learn to think before I speak.


	14. Chapter 14

I don't remember much about that morning's classes, because I (like everyone else in the room) was too busy counting down the minutes until I could get the hell out of there. In addition, having missed breakfast my thoughts were riveted on lunch (you don't get much mileage out of a piece of toast and a banana (I hadn't found time to eat the orange). And so, at around one-thirty, with stomach growling, I hurried down the bus steps...

...and then sprinted up the driveway...

...hurtling into the house...

...and tearing past Grandad, who was sitting on the couch with the newspaper spread out in front of him on the coffee table

"Hi...I'm home!" I called over my shoulder, as I ran straight for the kitchen...

...and relief.

Flinging my backpack onto the table, I grabbed a can of Italian Tomato Basil soup from the cabinet near the stove; figuring that, since it needed only three minutes in the microwave, it would be the fastest way to 'take the edge off'...

...and then I'd (immediately) segue into a huge sandwich.

Just as I was pulling a clean bowl from the dish drainer, Grandad called, "Carly? Would you come in here for a minute?"

"Sure," I answered, although slightly annoyed. Setting it back down, I emerged from the kitchen doorway and approached the couch, asking, "What's up? Didn't you find the scissors?"

Grandad looked up, meeting my gaze squarely with his own.

"Oh, I found them," he replied. "And that's not all I found."

And then, before I could ask him what he meant...

...Grandad picked up the newspaper from the coffee table...

...and less than a second later, my blood ran cold...

...because under it, lying side by side...

...were two sheets of yellow legal paper...

...one with my name at the top, and one with Sam's...

...and under each of our names, there were at least ten businesses listed...

...every single one of them followed by an address such as _1684 Boardwalk_...

...or _2537 Atlantic Avenue_...

...and at that moment I realized (to my horror) that in my haste to leave the house that morning, instead of hiding the two lists (like I always did), that I'd left them on my desk...

...right next to the scissors.

"Would you mind explaining these?" Grandad asked pointedly.

I opened my mouth, but the only word to come out of it was, "Th-th-they're-"

This was followed by a nearly-minute-long stretch of profound silence...

...during which Grandad sat staring at me expectantly...

...until, well aware that in his book 'silence equals guilt', I forced myself to finish the sentence.

"Uh...they're...um, lists of places that Sam and I applied to for jobs this summer."

Grandad continued staring at me...

...unwaveringly...

...and unnervingly.

"You're both looking for jobs...in Atlantic City?"

There was no way out.

"Yes," I admitted.

Grandad set his newspaper back down...

...while asking, "And whose idea was it that you were going spend the summer in Atlantic City?"

"Sp-Spencers," I replied. "He said that...that Sam and I were welcome to join him there...for the entire sum-"

"You're not going," Grandad stated flatly.

"But...but...it's_ okay_," I answered.

"No, Carly," he replied. "I'm afraid it's not."

"No...it _is_," I insisted earnestly, "because Dad said I could go."

Grandad frowned.

"That's impossible. Your dad has been back out on the sub for over a month now; so you know as well as I do that there's no way you could have contacted him about this."

"No...he said it was okay...the last time he was in port," I explained.

"And what exactly did he say to you then?"

"I...I didn't talk to him," I admitted.

"Well, I_ did_ talk to him that day," Grandad replied, folding his arms, "and he never said anything to me about this."

I took a deep breath to steady myself.

This was no time to lose my composure.

"He told Spencer, and Spencer told me," I answered, as calmly as I could.

Grandad shook his head in disbelief.

"Carly, you expect me to believe that? If he had granted you permission to leave Yakima _and _to spend the entire summer all the way over on the other side of the country, then he'd definitely have mentioned it to me."

"He...didn't want you to worry."

At this remark Grandad's eyebrows shot up.

It was obvious he believed I was lying.

Determined to remain calm, I took another deep breath, and then continued, "He sent a letter of permission."

"I never received any letter," he pointed out.

"Uh, Dad...uh...he...didn't send it to you."

"Fine," Grandad said. "Go to your room and get it."

"He...sent it to Spencer," I replied, nervously beginning to realize that, instead of clarifying anything, every sentence I uttered seemed to be making the entire situation worse and worse...

...and less and less believable.

Grandad looked back at me, incredulous, asking, "He sent Spencer a letter of permission, instead of me? Your dad is well aware that_ I'm _the one who has to grant you per-

"N-no. It w-was addressed to you...but he sent it to Spencer."

"What?" he exclaimed. "Then why would he send it to Atlantic City, instead of directly to me?"

"He...didn't want you to worry," I repeated lamely.

"And you expect me to believe that?" he replied.

"It's true..._honest_!" I assured him.

He wasn't assured.

"Look," he continued, "don't you realize that what you're saying makes absolutely no logical sense whatsoev-"

At that moment, Grandad stopped speaking...

...because his phone was ringing. Pulling it from his pocket, he said, "Hello, Violet. Can you wait a moment?" Covering it with has palm he looked back at me, saying, "Get your brother on the phone. I want to talk to him.

"But-" I began.

"Right now."

"But...he's probably not available," I protested. "Last night, he told me that he's going to be in and out of meetings all day."

"_Now_, Carly."

Grandad turned back to his own phone, stating, "Of course, Violet. No, I haven't forgotten...actually looking forward to..."

Heart sinking, I went back into the kitchen and got my phone out of my backpack.

As expected, Spencer wasn't in...

...so I left the message, "Please call me...the second you get this...it's really, really, _really_ important!"

As I walked back into the living room, Grandad had already finished his own call.

He looked up at me expectantly and asked, "Well?"

Aware that my hands were beginning to tremble...

...in an incredibly incriminating way...

...I shoved them into my pockets, replying, "Uh, Spencer's...um...not in, but I told him to call me back as soon as he gets my message; so it should only be an hour or two before he-"

"I can't wait around for an hour or two," Grandad answered, "I'm going out."

"Okay then, I'll call back and tell him to phone you instead," I offered, turning and heading back to my phone, which I'd left on the kitchen counter.

"That's no good either," he replied...

...stopping me in my tracks.

As I turned back to face him, he continued, "I'm going to a concert with Ms. Lippincott this afternoon, and I can't take phone calls while I'm inside the theater; so tell Spencer that _no matter what he's doing_, I expect to hear from him as soon as I get home...which will be by five."

"Then...I can g-go to Atlantic City?" I asked hopefully.

My query was met with an unbearably-long stretch of silence...

...and then, finally, Grandad spoke.

"I want to see this letter."

Getting up from the couch, he walked down the hall and into his room...

...soon returning to the living room wearing his blue blazer...

...and then, without another word, he was gone.

Due to equal parts nervousness and hunger-induced dizziness, I walked back into the kitchen on very unsteady legs...

...but even though my stomach was growling insistently, non-stop, I was way too stressed out to eat anything.

As soon as this whole thing is resolved I'm going to have a huge, celebratory lunch, I promised myself...

...and then I began pacing the kitchen floor.

Exactly thirty-seven minutes later, Spencer called.

"Hey, Kiddo, I just got your message. What's up? Are you okay?"

"Grandad saw the papers!" I blurted out.

"Papers?" he asked. "What papers?"

I realized that he had absolutely no idea what I was referring to.

"The ones I had written job listings on, for Sam and myself!" I told him, slouching back against the kitchen counter for support. "I'm sorry! I didn't want him to find out this way!"

"Carly, calm down...look, you know that everything is okay," he stated matter-of-factly. "You know that Dad gave you permis-"

"N-no! I just told Grandad about the letter...but he...he doesn't believe me!"

"Don't worry," Spencer replied, in a low, reassuring tone. "Look, I've just finished for the day and I'm heading home right now. There's a copy shop only two blocks from my apartment, and I promise you that I'll run straight over there and fax the letter to him."

"But, what if he thinks it's a fake?" I asked...hearing paranoia slowly, yet steadily, beginning to creep into my voice.

"It's written on military letterhead," Spencer replied.

"But, you're an artist...you could easily fake something like that...especially in a fax!" I pointed out.

"Listen to me; you're getting upset over nothing," he stated calmly. "If he's not satisfied, I'll make a copy for safekeeping and send the original to him...overnight...so stop worrying, okay?"

"O...kay," I answered, realizing that he was right...

...and immediately feeling my anxiously-pounding heart beginning to slow down somewhat.

"I'll call you as soon as I get home." Spencer promised.

After he hung up, I felt slightly more assured, but was still way too nervous to eat; and so, in an attempt to distract myself from the entire situation I tried calling Sam...

...but she wasn't answering...

...and so I sat there, staring helplessly at my phone...

...incredibly lightheaded, from both hunger and apprehension.

Forty-three minutes later, it finally rang.

Snatching it up off the table I blurted out, "Spencer! I'm so glad you called...all this waiting is making me crazy! A re you on your way to the copy shop?"

His answer made my blood run cold.

"Carly...I've been robbed!"

Nearly a full minute passed before I was able to utter, "Wh-what? _Spencer, that's not funny!_"

"No!" he yelled. "You know that I'd _never_ joke about something like that! I've been robbed!"

I nearly dropped my phone.

Holding it as steady as I could...

...with two shaking hands, I gasped, "What? How can that be? You said your apartment is in a high security building!"

"I don't know what happened," he replied, clearly distraught, "but, since I'm up on the eleventh floor, there's no other way in except through the front door!"

"They kicked it in?" I asked frantically.

"No, they must have picked the lock...because there's no visible damage!"

"Then how do you know you were even robbed?" I answered. "Maybe you just misplaced-"

"No!" he shouted. " All my dresser drawers were pulled out!"

"There must be cameras in the hallways," I pointed out.

"Yes," he sighed, "but the one on my floor's not working."

"What d-did they t-take?" I demanded...

...my body beginning to tremble violently...

...somehow already knowing the answer.

"Only the fireproof box, which was in my bottom drawer. Fortunately, I had the project sketches at work with me...but Dad's letter was in it."

Ignoring the pounding sensation that had just started inside my head...right behind my eyes...

...I asked frantically, "Have you filed the police report yet? What did they say?"

Instead of answering directly, Spencer was silent...

...while I sat, expecting the worst...

...and sure enough, he delivered.

"I was going to file one, but the building's front desk manager told me that it's pointless to even call them, since there's no sign of forced entry...and since 'nothing of value was taken'."

"Call them anyway! Your dresser drawers were pulled out! They can dust for fingerprin-"

"I know they could," he agreed, "...but it's a furnished rental; so I'm sure that all the furniture has lots of people's fingerprints on it."

"B-but-D-ad's let-"

"I'm really, really sorry," he cut in. "Look, I'll talk to Grandad about what hap-"

"He's never gonna let me go now!" I wailed.

"I'll talk to him," he repeated, "so try not to worry."

Just over an hour later, every minute of which I spent growing more and more fearful and despairing, Grandad walked through the front door. After heading directly to his room to hang his jacket up, he stopped in his office for a minute or two; and then, suddenly, he was back in the living room and staring into the kitchen...

...directly at me.

Wondering how I was ever going to explain what had happened, I walked toward him unsteadily, filled with dread; and not trusting my legs to continue supporting me, I sank onto the couch...

...and slowly turned to face Grandad, who was seated in an adjacent armchair.

"Spencer just called," I began, "...and he...he..."

"He called me, too," Grandad replied.

This was completely unexpected.

"Wh-what! _Wh-when?_" I asked...

...terrified of what might have occurred without me there to mediate the discussion.

"About an hour ago," he replied. "It was during an intermission in the program, so I took the call."

"Did he tel-" was as far as I got, before Grandad interrupted.

"You're not going," he stated flatly.

"But...but _**I**_-"

"No," he cut in. "You are _not_ spending the summer in that corrupt city. It has a long, unsavory history of crime, which continues to this day."

"I won't even be there!" I exclaimed, fighting hard against the extreme urge to panic. "I'll be living in Ventnor, the next city over...on Vassar Square."

"Vassar and the Boardwalk, he corrected me, adding, "I looked Vassar square up on Gaggle maps...and it's only one block from the Atlantic City/Ventnor border,_ and_ it's right on the Boardwalk, so you might as well be living in Atlantic City."

"Dad said I could go!" I repeated. "He sent the letter!"

"Which just happens to have been stolen...only a few hours ago," he answered sarcastically. "What are the odds of that?"

"He _did_ send it!"

"And as soon as I ask to see it, it's stolen? How can you possibly sit there, expecting me to believe you?"

"B-but he _did_ send it!" I insisted. "I swear he did!"

"You know I have no way of verifying that."

"But...if he didn't...you'd find out, by asking him the next time he's in port," I pointed out.

"Yes," Grandad answered, "but that won't be until October; and by then it will be too late."

As the pounding in my head rapidly escalated to a blindingly-painful crescendo, I grabbed onto the arm of the couch for support, asking, "Wh-what did Spencer say?"

Grandad's expression of extreme skepticism remained unchanged.

"He told me the same thing you did. And I told him that I don't appreciate being lied...to especially about something so serious-"

"He's telling you the truth!" I answered, now almost sobbing. _"We both are!"_

Grandad shook his head.

"Carly I know a lie when I hear one. How convenient that he just happens to have been robbed, on the very same day that I asked to see this alleged letter? Nobody in their right mind would believe a B.S. story like th-"

"But he-"

"And the letter was the _only_ thing that the burglar stole?" he added. "Look, I wasn't born yesterday. It's obvious that the two of you fabricated this whole story, and you didn't think I'd ever find out about-"

"Spencer and I were going to tell you about the trip..._I swear we were!_"

"When?" he asked. "Was I going to wake up one morning to find you gone, with a note of explanation...written by _you_? You know that, legally, I'm your guardian, not Spencer.

Tightening my grip on the couch's arm and blinking back tears, I asked, voice shaking badly, "Why would w-we lie to you?"

Grandad leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees.

"For the same reason you've both been lying to your dad for the past five years; telling him that Spencer is in law school. If you have no problem lying to your own father, then I know for a fact that you'll have no problem lying to me, in order to get what you wan-"

"But I've never lied to Dad!" I interjected. "I _never_ told him that Spencer is in law school!"

"Did you ever tell him that Spencer _wasn't _in law school?"he countered.

"Well, no," I admitted, "...but-"

"Then you did lie to your father," he concluded. "It was a lie of omission."

"But I...I..."

Grandad sat in silence...

...waiting for me to finish.

But suddenly, I wasn't willing to debate the issue anymore...

...because _Dad had said I could go_...

...which meant that Grandad's refusal was_ not_ acceptable to me...

...and so, turning my back on my determination not to lose my head, I boldly and defiantly shot back, "I'm going anyway!"

Grandad's voice was surprisingly impassive as he replied, "No. You're not."

"I _am_ going! I'll...I'll run away!" I vowed.

"And the police will bring you right back," he assured me.

Looking back on that afternoon, I realize now that I should have eaten the soup when I had the chance...

...because if I had, then maybe my extreme hunger wouldn't have made me so dizzy and irrational that I was pushed over the edge...

...and ended up exacerbating an already-serious situation so badly...

...and I probably would have been able to avoid what happened next.

"I'm calling Spencer!" I exclaimed. "He'll take my side on thi-"

Grandad shook his head.

"I've already told him that you're not going...and he agrees with me."

"What? That's not true!" I shouted...

...as I felt my entire body begin to shake violently...

...from lack of food...

..._and_ from the indignation of not being believed...

..._and_ from the realization that I was now being deprived of the only thing that had sustained me through the past month and all of its horrors...

...being able to spend the summer in Atlantic City...

...with Sam.

Grandad interrupted my thoughts, announcing, "It is true; and he does support my decision. Now, I want you to listen to m-"

"No!" I shouted, jumping to my feet, "I'm through listening to you!"

"Carly," he replied, speaking to me with surprising calmness, "sit down, and let me explain-"

"Explain what?" I shot back, my voice shaking as badly as my body. "That this is all for the best? It's _not_!"

"No," he replied, "that's not what I was going to say. Now, if you'll just liste-"

"No!" I yelled. "I've listened enough! You're not my boss! You can't tell me what to do!"

"Actually, yes I can," he pointed out. "Now, let me-"

"No!" I shouted. "Why should I ever listen to you again? You're the worst grandfather in the whole world!"

At this pronouncement, he stopped speaking abruptly...

...obviously taken aback...

...but soon recovered, stating, "We both know you don't mean that. Now just listen to-"

"I do mean it!" I bellowed. "If we could pick our own relatives...I'd _never,_ ever pick you! You don't act like my grandfather...you act like my jailer!"

"Stop over-reacting and sit back down," he replied, "and just let me finish what I was going to tel-"

"Are you going to let me go to Atlantic City?" I demanded.

"No," he answered, "...but-"

"Then you_ are _finished!" I informed him. "I'm not interested in anything else you have to say!"

From his tone of voice, it's obvious that he was becoming annoyed as he stated, "Carly, stop acting like a child, and just-"

"No! You heard me! I'm not interested in anything else you have to say...ever..._**so **__**just **__**shut **__**the ****fuck **__**up**__**!**_" I shrieked...

...shocking even myself...

...because I'd never, ever talked back to him before...

...and certainly not so vulgarly...

...or so hatefully.

His stunned expression suddenly replaced by an ominous scowl, Grandad stood up.

"Don't you dare talk to me that way, young lady," he admonished, "...especially since I-"

"I'll talk any way I want to!" I shot back.

"Oh no you won't," he replied firmly. "Not in my house you won't. Now, _for the last time_, I want you to sit down and listen-"

"Shut up!" I shrieked. "_Just shut up!_ I'm not listening to you anymore.._ever!_"

"Carly, calm down...right now," he demanded...moving two steps closer to me and laying a hand on my arm...

...gently.

I flung it off violently.

Not bothering to wipe away the tears that were coursing freely down both my cheeks, I screamed into his face, "I won't! You can't tell me what to do anymore, you...you...control freak! You goddamned son of a bitch! You never let me do _anything_! _I Hate You! I Hate You! I Hate-"_

_**PANG!**_

Startled, Grandad looked away from me...

...and then down at his watch. A second or two later he bent over and picked up a wrapped parcel and a piece of paper from the coffee table; and then, he walked slowly to the front door. I watched as he took a deep breath, and opened it...

...and looking past his shoulder, I saw the Send-Ex man who usually delivers to this address.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Shay."

"Good afternoon, Carl," Grandad replied...

...his voice shaking.

Carl seemed not to notice. Nodding at the package under Grandad's arm, he asked, "Sending something out today?"

"Yes. I have to return these shoes to Gacy's."

"Oh, I see. Wrong size?"

"Wrong color."

He handed the box to Carl and then began to close the door.

"Thank y-oh, wait, Mr. Shay, this form isn't filled out correctly."

"Sorry," Grandad answered, swinging it back open. "Let me borrow your pen, and I'll just cross out-"

Carl shook his head regretfully.

"Unfortunately, they won't accept a form with cross-outs. I'm sorry, but going to have to ask you to fill out a new one."

"Of course," Grandad agreed.

Carl shuffled some papers on his clipboard, and then handed it to Grandad, along with a pen.

Less than five seconds later, I was sitting back down on the couch...

...with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands...

...because of what had just occurred to me.

I had just realized that I'd made a huge error...

...and that all of this was completely fixable...

...and my mind kicked into high gear as I rationalized that, after all, Dad had to have realized how important this letter of permission was, so he must have sent it via certified or registered mail...

_...which meant that there would be a written record of it._

Spencer hadn't actually told me this, but he had said that letter was addressed to _Mr. Everett Shay c/o Mr. Spencer Shay_. Post office records would confirm this...and then, even though we couldn't prove exactly _what_ was written in the letter, we _could_ prove that it had been sent...

...and that evidence probably would be sufficient to convince Grandad.

Bur first, I needed to calm down...

...immediately and completely...

...and then I needed to apologize...

...profusely and sincerely.

Using the sleeve of my sweater to wipe my streaming, stinging eyes, I closed them; and then, still hunched over, I spent the next minute or two focusing on my breathing...

...and on pulling myself back together...

...but then, I looked up to see Grandad standing, directly in front of me...

...towering over me...

...and staring down at me...

...and, noticing the expression of angry determination on his face, I began to panic...

...so badly that, instead of apologizing I blurted out, "L-look...Dad's letter...certified mail! Just give Spencer time to-"

Grandad took a deep breath.

"Did you think I didn't ask Spencer that already?" he asked.

This possibility hadn't occurred to me.

"Wh-what did he say?" I asked.

"He said that your dad sent it by regular post."

"But..._but_-" I began...

...but he cut me off, stating, "If there had been any kind of record of this 'fictitious letter', I'd have been willing to give you both the benefit of doubt...but not now."

Fighting back the urge to scream in frustration, I continued, "But Dad _did_-"

"Regular post?" he cut in. "How convenient to say that it was sent that way...so there's no trace of it."

"Th-then, if that were the case, why would I even bring up registered mail?" I pointed out.

"It's obvious that you're trying to buy more time," he replied. More time so you can ask Spencer to write a fake letter; which you'll then say was misplaced instead of stolen; and that he mistakenly thought he was robbed."

"He _was_ robbed!" I insisted.

"Then why didn't he call the police?" Grandad demanded.

Suddenly remembering my recent outburst, I somehow resisted the urge to continue arguing with him; and pulling myself together as well as I could I answered, "L-look, I...I know I owe you an apology. I'm really, really sorry that-"

Grandad's voice was surprisingly calm as he stated, "I'm sorry too, Carly. Sorry that you weren't willing or able to discuss this with me like a mature adult. If you had, you'd have let me finish what I was about to tell you."

At this, I opened my mouth to protest...

_...again..._

...but soon shut it.

I was in enough trouble already.

Grandad took another deep breath, and then continued, "The reason that Spencer was so understanding of my decision is because I told him that, since you weren't coming to Atlantic City, I was going to invite Sam to spend the entire summer here, with us, as my guest."

Stunned, I fell back against the sofa's armrest.

"Wh-wh-what?" was the only word I could utter...

...as, still staring down into my eyes, he continued, "I thought that it would be unfortunate for you to have to spend the entire summer away from your best friend. But now, after what just happened, I rescind my offer."

"But...but I'm_ s-s-sorry!_" I repeated, scrambling back up into a seated position. "I realize that it was wrong of me to talk to you that way...very, very wrong...and I'm admitting it! I'm really, really sorry; so please let Sam come to Yaki-"

"No," he cut me off, "that's out of the question, because I don't want her in my home now. Carly, you _never_ used to act _anything_ like this...and it's obvious to me exactly where you've picked up your foul vocabulary _and_ your defiant attitude."

"No,_ please_! Please let her!" I begged.

"Absolutely not."

"She'll get a job!" I offered quickly. "We both will! And I promise that we'll both kick in toward the household expenses! We'll give you every cent we mak-"

He shook his head.

"You know as well as I do that this has nothing to do with money."

"Then...just let her visit a couple of times...even just once!"

"No."

"I won't even bring her to the house!" I promised. "We'll meet somewhere else! And only for a couple of hours! And then I _**swear**_ I'll come straight hom-"

"No."

Fighting hard against my extreme panic I added, "Look, I-I'm extremely sorry! I know I hurt your f-feelings; and if you'll just let me-"

Grandad's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Carly, I have no idea where you'd get an idea like that," he replied. "Not one single person on this earth has permission to hurt my feelings...not unless I grant it...and that _definitely _is not the case here. And another thing, as for-"

At that moment, his phone rang. Grandad looked down the hall, to where he'd left it on his desk...

...and then he looked out the living room window...

...over in the direction of Mrs. Payne's house.

"Oh, Esther...what_ now_?" he muttered, with an exasperated sigh...

...and then, turning away from me, he walked toward his office to answer the call...

...while I stared back down at the carpet and forced myself to do some fast thinking.

The first thing to do is to call Spencer and explain exactly what happened...

...and how incredibly sorry I am...

...and then I _know_ he'll be able to convince Grandad to let Sam come and stay with us...after all, I 'm already missing out on so much...

...and from the minute Sam gets here, she and I will both work tirelessly, keeping the house spotlessly clean …

...and the garden immaculately tended to...

...and we'll even willingly participating in any and all activities he plans...

...no matter how mind-numbingly boring they're sure to be.

I spent the next ten minutes agonized, yet hopeful...

...and finally, Grandad emerged from his bedroom...

...while I took a deep breath, steadying myself...

...but instead of returning to the living room, he walked into the bathroom.

After another fifteen excruciatingly-long minutes had elapsed, he finally returned...

...but before I could ask him what Mrs. Payne had wanted, he informed me, "That was your brother. I explained to him that Sam isn't coming to Yakima now, and he understands completely."

"_NO!"_ I screamed.

"Yes," he answered calmly.

Ignoring my now-excruciatingly-painful headache, I said, as calmly as I could under the circumstances, "L-l-look. I know that I had no right to speak to you the way I did...and that I deserve to be punished for it...severely...but don't you see that I already _am_? I'm not going to Atlantic City, and I_ know_ that now...so haven't I already been punished enough? And...and I swear I'll never, _ever_ say anything like that to you again! So please, _please_ let Sam-"

Grandad shook his head...

...and then stated, "And, as for you running away, have you forgotten about Statute 318-47?"

Aghast, I reached up with both hands to grab his, but he immediately took a step backward, moving away from me as I begged, "Grandad, no! Not that! _Please not that!_"

In his most serious tone, he added, "I'm beginning to think that it will be for the best if-"

I couldn't bear to hear the rest...

...and so I interrupted, "No, please! Please, Grandad..._don't_! I swear that nothing like this will ever happen ag-"

He paused for nearly a minute, obviously thinking the matter over.

Finally he answered slowly, "Well then...if you don't want that to happen, then here's the deal. From now on, you'll respect me- "

"I will! I promise I will! B-but-"

"And I want to make it very clear to you that if you _ever_ speak to me like that again-"

"I won't!" I vowed. "I swear I won't! But please just let Sam-"

Ignoring me, he interrupted, "And if you do_ anything_ else contrary to my wishes, anything at all...and that includes trying to see Sam...even once...then I'm immediately going to petition the-"

"No! Grandad, please..._no_! I'm begging you!"

His eyes narrowing slightly, he asked, "Then we understand each other completely?"

"Y-yes," I assured him, "...but-"

"Good."

"Grandad, please! _Please_ let Sam-"

"No, Carly. My mind is made up."

At that, he turned away, but leaning forward, I reached up and grabbed his arm, and begged, "Please,just let me finish...and I'm talking to you like a m-mature adult n-now...from now on I promise I'll r-respect you! And-"

Grandad removed my hand from his arm.

"Well, if that's the case, then you'll respect this decision," he answered...

...dimissively.

And, without another word, he turned and walked through the kitchen, out the back door, and into the garden...

...leaving me crying on the couch.

Less than ten minutes later I was in my room...

...imploring Spencer, "Pleeeease! Can't you talk to him...and m-make him change his mind about thi-"

"I did talk to him," he replied.

"Well, talk to him again!"

"I'm sorry," he answered, clearly regretful, "I tried my hardest; but...don't you see that you've completely broken his heart?" He sighed, then added, "How could you even _think_ of saying something like that to him?"

"I...don't know," I admitted, "...but I_ do know _that I didn't break his heart! He told me I didn't have permission to upset him!"

"Carly, you had him in tears. I could hear it in his voice."

"Grandad never cries!" I declared...

...but then remembered that right after that phone call, instead of coming back to the living room, he'd gone into the bathroom...

...and how long he'd been in there.

Oh, no.

"Spencer, I know I was wrong..._I know it_...but please try again...I'm begging you! I want to be with Sam!"

I heard the unmistakeable tone of defeat in his voice as he replied, "I know you do; but remember, Sam's your best friend; so I'm sure that even though she's going to be disappointed, she'll understand-"

"No, Spencer, _you_ don't understand! _I love her!"_

Very long, awkward silence...

...and then Spencer spluttered, "Wh-wh-what?"

"I'm sorry! We were going to tell you...as soon as we got to Atlantic Cit-Spencer please! Please, somehow get Grandad to change his mind!"

"Carly, I'm sorry. I swear I tried everything I could to persuade-"

"And it's w-worse than that! N-now...he...he's threatened to p-p-petition-"

I couldn't finish...

...but despite my loud sobs, I clearly heard his response.

"I know he did. He told me."

"Come here!" I sobbed. " Come here right now and get me! I w-want to go h-home!"

"If I could I would," he answered slowly...

...and sadly. "You know that."

"Spencer, _**please!**_ I'm b-begging y-"

"Carly, listen to me," he cut in. "Whatever happens now, don't do anything else to upset Grandad, and I _**promise**_ you that the minute this project is over I'll fly straight to Yakima and-"

"_Spencer!" _

"Please promise me you won't give him any reason to be upset!"

Too devastated to speak, I didn't reply.

"Carly?"

"I...pr-promise."

Less than two minutes later, he hung up...

...and then I sat, staring at my phone in silence...

...for nearly an hour...

...finding it impossible to make the next call.

How could I do it?

How could I tell her what I'd done?

Finally, I realized that I had to.

There was no way out of it.

And, with hands trembling so badly that I could barely hold the phone, I dialed her number.

"Hi, Cupcake," was as far as she got...

...before I blurted out, "S-s-sam I have t-to t-t-talk to y-"

"Spencer already told me," she replied...

...and I could clearly hear how hard she was trying...

...to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

"I'm s-so s-sorry! I don't know how this h-hap-" I began...

...but then I stopped speaking...

...because suddenly, like a vicious wake-up slap, I realized _exactly_ how it had happened.

It was because that morning, I'd wished that I didn't have to go to school...

..._not_ so I could stay and talk to Grandad...

...but because I was feeling lazy...

...which meant that my wish had been selfish...

...but it wasn't fair to punish me for that! Not for something so trivial!

And _not _a punishment as profound as this one!

And then, tearfully, I explained to Sam what had happened...

...but to my horror, she didn't reply the way I'd expected...

...**not** with harsh words, cursing Mr. Oswell or the Bonsen shaman...

...and **not** with criticism, telling me off for wishing so carelessly...

...but with total silence.

After nearly two minutes, now panicking wildly, I broke it.

"S-sam...Sam, _please_ don't hate me for this!"

"I'm coming down there," she said suddenly...

...and my heart hurtled into my throat.

"No! You can't!"

"Oh yes, I can!" she shot back. "Your grandad may own a house in Yakima, but he doesn't own the whole goddamned city! I can go wherever I want to! Whenever I want to!"

"Sam..._no_!"

"Yes," she insisted, "it's settled. I'm coming...and he won't be able to do anything about it. So, the next time he says he's taking you to a restaurant, let me know in advance, and I'll just happen to be there; and then-"

"No!" I gasped. "You don't know him! Grandad's owned an accounting firm here, for more than thirty years, which means that he knows absolutely everyone in this town! So if you even _try_ to approach the table, he'll tell the manager that you're a hooligan...and that you're harassing him...and I guarantee that he'll have you thrown out...and probably arrested!"

More silence.

"Okay then...does he still make you go to church every Sunday?" she asked.

"Yes, but what-"

"At the Fourth United Methodist Church...over on South Third Street?" she continued.

"Yes, but what-"

"And services start at nine-thirty in the morning?" she added.

"Yes...but what does that have to do with-"

"Perfect," she declared. "Just save me a spot at the end of your pew, and at nine-thirty-one, right as the service is starting, I'll slide right in next to y-"

"No!" I gasped. "Don't think that, just because we're in a church, Grandad won't make a scene and have you remov-"

"I hope he makes a scene there," she replied calmly, "the bigger the better."

"Wh-what?"

"Don't you see?" she replied. "That's exactly what we want...because the worse he makes me sound, the more convinced the minister will be that I _need_ to be in church! He'll_ never_ throw me out! It's brilliant!"

"Sam, _no!_ You don't understand!"

"Oh yes I do," she shot back. "That bastard is holding you hostage! For the entire summer!"

"If you come down here, it will be for another five years!" I shot back.

After a short stretch of confused silence, she said, "What? You'll be eighteen in a couple of months; so you'll be an adult, which means-"

"No!" I corrected her. "There's statute on the books, which makes an exception for school-aged children of military personnel!"

"Huh?"

"If the child's parents are on active duty and are unable to take care of them, then the child's legal guardian can retain control over the child...all the way up until graduation," I explained. "Dad knew about it when he signed the papers. And now, if I do even one more thing to piss him off, Grandad's threatened to-"

"Well" she cut in, "the operative word here is 'child'."

"But as long as I'm in school I qualify as a child," I replied shakily, "...which in my case means another year of high school, and then four years of college...and you know that if he signs it, he's _never_ going to let me go to Princeton like I want to! Instead, I'll be stuck at some crummy community college, here in Yakima!"

"Shit."

The next words were the most difficult ones I've ever had to utter.

"So, don't you understand, Sam? I'm really, really sorry...but I can't see you!"

**June 23rd:**

Ten days later, school ended.

I barely noticed.

I didn't even get to enjoy the much-anticipated thrill of being free of Tiffy Myers...possibly forever...

...because I was way too busy hating my life.

Up until then, Grandad had pretty much ignored me...

...making very sure I that understood I was in disgrace.

At first I had grown accustomed to it, spending the greater part of every day in my room, alternately talking/crying to Sam for hours on end...

...but two days after classes ended, all of that changed.

Because now, he had activities planned...

...and so, every single day, I spent hour after incredibly-boring hour joining him on nature walks...and watching crappy TV shows, with titles such as 'Abuses of Power in the Soviet Union'...and watching him play chess in the park for hours on end...and listening to him complain endlessly about his friend's grandson; going on and on about Jason's stupidity and/or carelessness in constantly butchering his lawn and hedges.

By the end of the second week, I absolutely couldn't take it anymore.

Fortunately, Grandad was out for the entire afternoon...

...alone...

...which meant that I was free to spend it talking to Sam; and less than thirty seconds after he'd left, I was frantically dialing her number...

...not only needing to unburden myself (as I always did) of everything that I'd just been through...

...but also desperately needing to hear her reassurance that this nightmare would end eventually...

...and to listen to the sound of her kisses next to my ear...

...and to hear her remind me...repeatedly...how much she loves me.

But, this phone call was different.

Very different.

It started out normally enough...

...but then, after about five minutes of listening to me complain, she'd asked what I was doing at the moment...

...and I'd told her that I was in the middle of a sandwich...

...an oversized _ham_ sandwich.

"Th-that's n-nice," she replied...

...her voice trembling badly...

...and at that moment, my blood turned to ice in my veins...

...due to the realization that had just washed over me.

Oh, no.

Oh, God.

_Oh, My God!_

And then, after I'd spent nearly a minute sitting, speechless...

...and horrified...

...I asked, tentatively, "Sam...have you...have you been...eating?"

Her very long hesitation, followed by the halfhearted way she said 'yes'...

...told me everything I needed to know...

...but still, now trembling, I grabbed onto edge of kitchen table with my free hand...

...and asked, "Wh-what did you have for breakfast today?"

"I...I...f-forget," she answered slowly...

...and very quietly...

...and my heart immediately shattered into a thousand tiny fragments.

What was wrong with me?

_**What **__**The **__**Hell **__**Was **__**Wrong **__**With **__**Me**__**!**_

From the moment I got here, it's all been about me. How sad I was...how bored I was...how disappointed I was.

Not once...

...not one single time did I _ever_ ask bother to ask Sam how _she_ was...

...or who was taking care of her...

...or who was making sure that she had clean clothes...

...and access to food...

But now, there was no need to ask...

...because I realized that the answer to all three questions was: _Absolutely No One._

And, at that moment, I hated myself...

...with a deep, burning, raging fury...

...far more than Tiffy Myers _ever_ could.

Doing my best to keep from sobbing into the phone, I wiped my damp eyes with the back of my free hand and said, "S-sam...listen to me. There's still some food at m-my apartment; and right now I w-want you to empty out your backpack, and then go straight over there and-"

"I'm...not hungry," she mumbled.

"Yes, you are!" I insisted. "I_ know_ that you are!"

"No...thanks anyway, but-"

"No, Sam...just listen to me! I want you to _promise_ me that you're going to go over there, right now, and-"

"It's n-not about the food, Carls" she interrupted...

...and then, before I could argue that it _was_...

...she continued, in a broken, faltering voice, "It's just been...s-so h-hard...I j-just...ev-ery day...without y-you...b-being h-h-here...w-with...m-m-m-"

The next sound I heard...

...was silence...

...because she had covered the phone receiver with her hand...

...and I knew why...

...and losing my resolve, I broke down completely and sobbed, "Sam, honey, no! Please don't cry! I'm so sorry! Th-this is all my fault!"

There was no answer...

...and even though I begged her, over and over, to talk to me...

...the silence stretched on endlessly...

...and unbearably...

...forcing me to confront a very ugly truth:

What kind of girlfriend was I?

The worst sort!

I'd taken so much from her...

...and she had been so incredibly unselfish to me...

...through all of this...

...and now she was literally starving...and it was because of me!

And the entire time, even though she was suffering so badly, she hadn't said one word!

Because that's how much she loves me!

And, at that moment, I realized that there was only one way I could possibly make it up to her...

...one _very dangerous_ way.

But suddenly, I just didn't care anymore...

...because my love for her was far too profound for me to even _think_ about myself any longer...

...and I realized that only one thing mattered now: Making Things Right...

...and that I had to do it...

...no matter what it might end up costing me.

And so, after taking a long moment to steel myself for what was about to happen...

...I closed my eyes and said it.

"Sam...listen to me. I'm so sorry! I know that I've only been thinking of myself...and I hate myself for it! You've been missing out on so much...and I realize that it's all my fault...but now..."

And then, I stopped speaking, for nearly for a minute...

...choosing my next words very, very carefully...

...and then I continued, "Please listen to me! Don't cry, because everything is going to be okay now; and, well, the reason it's going to be okay is because...because...and I want to make it very clear that I'm saying this one hundred percent for you and zero percent for myself...

"...so, Sam...

"...I...I w-wish I could see you!"


	15. Chapter 15

I sat, silently and patiently...

...prepared to wait as long as necessary...

...because it was her turn now...

...and, less than a minute later, I heard her uncovering the receiver.

"C-carls, do you m-mean that?" she asked, her voice still shaking and tearful.

"Yes," I assured her. "I do."

"Well then," she replied, almost immediately, "I_ also_ w-wish that I could-"

"No, Sam...wait!" I gasped. "Before you say it, make sure that's it's _absolutely_ unselfish!"

"It_ is_ unselfish!" she exclaimed, then added, without hesitation, "Carly, I wish, _100% for your sake only,_ that I could see you!"

She paused a moment and then asked, tentatively, "But...you don't think that our wishes are going to...to cancel each other...do you?"

"Of course not!" I said, with complete conviction. "Look, we're both wishing for same thing...completely unselfishly. And besides, I _promise_ you that this is going to happen...and soon."

"How do you know?" she asked...

...sounding far from convinced.

"Because," I answered, "I'm going to _make_ _sure_ that it does!"

But _how_?" she persisted. "Whenever I've made a suggestion on what we could do to see each other, you've always rejected it...every single time. I've wracked my brains on this, trying everything I can think of to-"

"Well then," I interrupted, "your first order of business is to stop thinking about it, completely, and to let me figure it out."

"But-" she began.

"No, Sam. Promise me."

"Okay...I...I promise," she said slowly.

"All right," I continued, in my most business-like manner, "Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Like I said, empty out your backpack, and then head straight over to my place for dinner. I'm not sure if Spencer had the gas turned off, so you might not be able to actually cook anything while you're there, but in the freezer there's a small Pyrex dish of lasagna, which you can heat in the microwave. There's also some chicken parts in there, and three or four rib eye steaks; and in the cabinets there's a couple boxes of cereal...and some pancake mix, cookies, dried pasta, jam, crackers, and a few other things. Anyway, I want you to have it...all of it. After you eat, I want you to sleep in my bed, for as long as you can; then you can take a hot shower; and there's some of your clean clothes in my dresser. You can stay there all night if you want to; just remember to lock the door behind you when you leave."

"Carls, th-thanks! I...I don't know what to say," she answered falteringly...

...to which I replied, "Don't say anything, okay? Just listen. I love you. You've already suffered...so much, because of everything that's happened; and so I owe you this...and a lot more as well!"

There was a long, awkward silence, and then she said, "So, you didn't finish telling me about-"

"No, Sam," I interrupted, "whatever you were going to ask me about can wait. Right now it's time for you to go eat and rest...and to let me figure all of this out."

A few minutes later, we hung up...

...and almost immediately, I slouched in my chair...

...despairing.

_What_ did I just promise her?

Not that I didn't want to, because I most definitely did...

...but how was I _ever _going to manage it?

How could we see each other, without it ending in disaster?

And without me utterly destroying the next five years of my life?

Absolutely no ideas presented themselves, and after ten minutes of frantic yet failed brainstorming, now completely defeated, I lowered my chin onto my chest...

...and then lowered my eyes...

...staring down at the desktop...

...losing myself in the subdued, closely-lined grain of it's highly-polished cherry wood surface.

She was right.

There seemed to be no way to do this.

Could I take her to a hotel?

No. Too risky.

Maybe to a restaurant?

No. _Definitely_ too risky!

In addition, I had no friends in Yakima whatsoever; so there was no one here who'd let me bring her to their house.

Nearly half an hour later, having exhausted every conceivable possibility, I was ready to give up...

...so, rubbing the back of my now-stiff neck, I raised my head and lifted my eyes...

...staring dejectedly at the wall, just above my desk.

What was I going to do? I had promised her this...and she was _so_ deserving...and I _had_ to deliver...and soon...but how was I ever going to-_**oh, my God!**_

At that moment, my racing mind screeched to a halt...

...and my jaw dropped...

...as I realized that, according to the calender that was hanging right in front of me, my problem was solved! Because, less than two weeks from now, it would be July the Seventh...

...and it was on a Saturday!

_Yes!_

Why hadn't I thought of this before? I wondered, elated...

...but before I could jump out of my chair and run a victory lap around my room, I reached forward and grasped onto the front edge of the desk with both hands...

...steadying myself.

No.

Not so fast.

I had to put more thought into my plan...a lot more...

because screwing this up was _**not**_ an option!

And so, I sat there...

...losing all track of time...

...intently and repeatedly reviewing the situation in minute detail...

...from every conceivable angle...

...like a master watchmaker, hunched over his workbench...

...dismantling and reassembling the tiny gears of his creation, over and over and over again...

...but discovering that, no matter what configuration I put them together in...

...all of the parts still moved perfectly.

Finally, completey exhausted, I sank back in my chair.

Perfect.

It was absolutely perfect.

And I couldn't wait to tell Sam.

Satisfied and jubilant, I got up and stretched...

...and then I glanced at my watch.

It had been just over an hour and a half since I started, which meant that Sam would be asleep right now...

...but, as excited as I was to share my plan, I had no intention of waking her.

She needed to rest.

And besides, I needed more time alone anyway.

There was a lot more thinking to do on this...

...because I still needed to work out the details.

However, first thing the next morning, I was on the phone with her...

...laying out my strategy...

...while listening to the excitement in her voice; which made me far happier than I'd been in weeks.

And then, four days later, we were on the phone again...

...eagerly finalizing our plans.

"Sam, did you get the money order I sent you?"

"Yes," she confirmed, "I just cashed it about two hours ago; and then I went straight to the bus station and bought a round-trip ticket." She hesitated for a moment, before continuing, "But Carls, why did you send me $140? The bus ticket was only $50."

I smiled indulgently.

"Because, Sweetheart, the rest is for lunch."

"_What?"_ she squealed...

...in a most un-Sam-like way. "Ninety bucks? You mean that?"

"Of course I mean it," I confirmed. "Look, since it would be too risky for me to be seen buying all that food, would you mind doing the shopping for us, alone, at _Arthur's Deli_, over on East Chestnut Street?"

"Of course not," she answered eagerly. "Not a problem. What should I get?"

I thought the matter over for a minute.

"Well, how about two prosciutto and Genoa salami subs...and a large potato salad...and a two liter bottle of Bold Peak Lemon Iced Tea? As for dessert, well, I'll leave that up to you, because they bake different items every morning...but anything chocolate is good. Also, I want you to _promise_ me that, while you're there, you'll spend the rest of the money...all of it...buying anything else you want..._anything_!"

"Okay, I promise...and I'm_ so_ looking forward to this!" she exclaimed.

"Yes," I agreed, "I know how much you love prosciutto."

"No, Carls, you know as well as I do that I wasn't talking about the food!"

"Oh, Sam, you have no idea how much I'm also looking for-but-" I hesitated, "but...are you sure you're okay with this? After all, it's a...a very unusual place for a picnic."

She spent the next ten minutes assuring me that she was.

**July 6th:**

Late Friday afternoon, we were back on the phone...

...going over our plan, in minute detail, one last time.

"So...everything still looks good?" she asked...

...for what must have been the thirty-seventh time.

"Yes," I confirmed, "I managed to sneak out again yesterday and double-check the area. You're at the Seattle Library right now?"

"I am."

"Did you look up Yakima on _Gaggle Maps_?" I asked.

"Yep. I'm looking at it on the library's computer right now...and I've already located _Arthur's Deli_."

"Good," I replied, "from there, scroll over to East Nob Hill Boulevard...until you see Chesterton Park; and then, all the way over to its Eastern side, which is the front entrance. When you find it, zoom in, as close as you can."

There was a short stretch of silence, and then she answered, "Done."

"Okay," I continued, "do you see the biggest tree, the one that's just to the left-hand side of the path, up by the park's front gate?"

"Uh...yes."

"All right, that's going to be your lookout position," I instructed. "It's definitely big enough for you to hide behind...and it's directly across the street from where I'll be standing."

"Check," she replied.

I took a moment to look back down at my written itinerary, and then added, "Your bus will be in by 8:53 a.m., and the deli will be open by then; so go straight there and grab lunch, and then head down to the park's west gate. Go through it, walk across the park to the other side, and, when you get to the front gate, hide behind that tree. I estimate you'll be in position by 9:30, so I'll arrive about fifteen minutes earlier, but even if you see me, I want you to stay behind the tree."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because, I need to reconnoiter the entire area," I explained. Then, when I'm sure it's all clear, I'll move into my position; and then, well...I'll ask you to give me a few minutes alone, you know, to-"

"It's okay, Cupcake," she put in quickly. "I understand...so take as much time as you need."

"Thanks. When I've finished, I'll give you the signal."

"Okay, and...oh, have you decided what the signal is going to be?" she asked.

"Well, do you remember that blue plaid baseball cap?" I asked. "The one Spencer gave me last Christmas?"

"Yes," she assured me.

"Well, when you see me put it on, brim facing _forward_, that means I've finished...what I needed to do. And then, I'll take one last fast look around from my vantage point, and, when I'm absolutely sure I'm alone, I'll turn the cap around, with the brim facing _backwards_, and that's your signal that it's safe for you to come across the street...any questions?"

"Uh, yeah, what if, after I get across the street, we're seen?" she asked.

"Don't worry about that, Sweetheart," I answered quickly, "I've already done my homework in that department, so there's going to be absolutely no chance of it!"

"Okay then," she replied, sounding obviously relieved, "I'm gonna go to sleep early tonight; so I guess I'll head home now."

"Sam, before you do, there's...there's one more thing."

"Sure, what?" she said agreeably.

I hesitated...

...but less than ten seconds later I continued, "Tomorrow, when you get here, I...I want to be with you."

Without even pausing to think it over, she said, "Shh, Carls, let's not worry about th-"

"No...I _do_!" I insisted.

"Listen," she replied, "I promise you that you and I _will _talk about it...and soon...just not tomor-"

"Sam, no!"

"Yes," she insisted. "Look, let's not worry about any of that, okay? Let's just spend tomorrow enjoying each others company; and then, some other time, we can-"

"B-but, I know that I want-"

"No, Carls," she objected, "not until we've talked about it."

"Then let's just t-talk about it now," I suggested...

...my voice fully betraying my anxiety.

"No."

"Well...tomorrow then," I stated.

"No."

"But...why _not_?" I persisted.

"You know why not," she replied. "It's because I want you to be absolutely sure. I want you to have thought it ove-"

"I _have_ thought it over!" I exclaimed impatiently. "_Over and over_! For the past two months!"

"While you were under extreme stress," she pointed out calmly.

"Sam..._please_!"

"Shh. Look, Carls, why don't we wait until-"

"Please, can we t-talk about it tomorrow...please? _Please_, _Sam_?" I begged.

There was a very long pause...

...and then she sighed.

"Yes," she replied...

...although obviously reluctant, "...if you really want to talk about it we can...as long as _all_ we're going be doing about it is _talkin_-"

I couldn't let her finish.

I couldn't bear to hear the rest.

"Sam!" I interjected, before she'd actually turned me down.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I love you...so much!"

"I love you back, Cupcake, so stop worrying about us...you know...being intimate. I promise you that we will..._someday_...just like you promised me, okay?"

"But-"

"_Okay_, Carls?"

Devastated, I didn't answer.

"Come on, have you forgotten how much fun tomorrow is going to be?" she reminded me.

I sighed.

She was right...

...and so, deliberately (though with considerable effort), I turned my attention away from my disappointment...

...and toward the morning.

"I...I can't wait," I admitted.

"Neither can I," she agreed,"...so go to bed soon, and don't worry. I'll see you then."

After reminding her one more time how much I love her, I hung up the phone.

Right after dinner I took a long hot shower, but still was way too excited to sleep...

...and too worried...

...because, even though my elaborately-structured strategy was airtight, and had been planned with military precision...

...I still was determined to keep my eyes open for any potential problems, so I could diffuse them immediately.

Finally (and fortunately), exhaustion got the better of me and I fell into a sort of quasi sleep...

...but I was awake early, almost an hour before the alarm rang...

...and my heart lurched with joyful anticipation...

...when I opened my eyes to see the room flooded with sunlight.

A rare, perfect day, weather-wise!

Although eager to leave the house, I took my time getting ready...

...knowing that there was no rush, since I was way too nervous to even think of having breakfast anyway.

Finally, after one last glance in the mirror, I shouldered my heavy, bulging backpack, and opened my bedroom door silently...

...and then tiptoed down the hall...

...heaving a silent sigh of relief as I caught sight of Grandad's bag of golf clubs sitting next to the front door.

First hurdle accomplished.

Even though he plays every Saturday...

...I still was hoping that some illness or other emergency wouldn't arise, which might cause him to cancel.

Hardly daring to breathe, I moved forward silently...

...until, now nearly even with the kitchen, I looked into it...

...to see him sitting, his half-eaten breakfast in front of him, and with his back to me, talking on the phone. And I was elated to see that he...

...was wearing his black polo shirt!

His lucky shirt...

...which meant that he'd lost his bet on last week's game!

Yes! He's definitely going to be on the links today, chasing his $50!

Grandad was so engrossed in whatever he was saying that sneaking out of the house was going to be a cinch, I realized...

...and so, even though I didn't have to leave for another forty minutes...

...I slipped noiselessly past the kitchen archway...

...just as I heard him say, "Of course I still have last week's score sheet; it's on my desk..."

...and, half a second later, he stood up quickly...

...and turned around just as quickly...

...his eyebrows shooting up in surprise as he saw me standing there...

...frozen in shock.

Without a word, his eyes darted from my backpack to my face...

...and then to his watch...

...and then back to my face again.

"It's kind of early to be running errands," he pointed out.

In my confusion, all I could utter was, "W-w-well..."

"I'm heading out soon myself, so wherever you're going, I'll drop you off," he offered.

"But-" I began.

"Besides," he added, "you're not leaving this house without eating breakfast."

I knew better than to argue with him.

Fortunately, I still had time well in hand...

...and so I followed him into the kitchen.

Seven minutes later, I looked up from my half-eaten bowl of cereal...

...to see him staring at me intently.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Not trusting my voice to not betray me, I merely nodded.

"All right, then," he stated, apparently satisfied, "where do you want me to drop you off?"

"On the corner of Wilson Lane and South First streets...please."

Fifteen minutes later, he was pulling up to the curb.

Fifteen seconds later, he was turning to look at me...

...and frowning at what he saw

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked again...

...sounding less than certain.

Realizing that my nervousness must be glaringly apparent, I smiled as convincingly as I could, and nodded again...

...and then, before he could question me further, I thanked him for dropping me off, and got out of the car...

...relieved to see him pull away from the curb...

...and ten minutes later, I was walking out of _Fischer Florist_ with a huge, gorgeous bouquet called _Summer Splendor._

From the flower shop, it was only a short walk to where I needed to go...

...and about five minutes later, I found myself standing in front of my destination:

Yakima's _Mt. Pleasant Cemetery._

Before going inside, I looked nervously in both directions, carefully surveying the empty sidewalk...

...and then, taking a step forward and straining my eyes, I stared through the cemetery's ancient wrought iron entrance gates.

It appeared to be deserted. Since I'd deliberately planned to meet Sam so early I had been expecting this, but still, I was taking _Absolutely No Chances_...

...but before proceeding, and while trembling slightly, I turned around slowly and looked across the street...

...to Chesterton Park, just past its front gate...

...and over at the tree.

There was no sign of her yet...

...but that was okay. It was still too early.

I checked my watch. Sam's bus would have pulled into the station eighteen minutes ago...

...so she was at the deli right now...

...which meant that it was time for me to reconnoiter the area.

And so, bouquet in hand, I began walking slowly, counter-clockwise, around the cemetery grounds...

...looking up every single row of graves I passed...

...relieved to see that I was completely alone...

...and, approximately nine minutes later, finally stopping at my carefully pre-chosen spot...

...back at the cemetery's North-East corner.

Right in front of a huge mausoleum.

The one with the weathered granite exterior.

The oldest one in the entire cemetery. It was a magnificent example of Baroque architecture...

...lavishly decorated with elaborate carvings...

...and was inscribed with single name, just below its arched pediment:

_**WARREN**_.

Taking a step forward, I glanced through the pillars flanking its gated entrance, at its venerable, cracked marble floor...

...but I had no intention of going inside it...

...but instead, behind it.

Because behind it, between its broad back and the cemetery's high brick wall, was a six foot wide patch of grass.

More than enough room for two people to comfortably sit...

...or to lie down together...

...and to not be seen in either direction.

The perfect hiding place.

Walking back there for a final inspection, I shifted my bulging backpack, which was becoming somewhat heavy, to a more comfortable position on my shoulders. As it turns out, Grandad didn't have a picnic blanket, but after a bit of digging in his linen closet I'd found an old, unused twin-sized bedspread; and, since it was a bit musty, I had washed it, using a double dose of softener. Carefully setting my bouquet down on the ground for a moment, I shrugged my backpack off, unzipped it, pulled a corner out of the bedspread from it, and buried my face in it's pink and white rosebud-patterned surface.

it smelled fantastic.

Stuffing it back inside, I re-zipped my backpack...and then I checked the right front pocket of my jeans. In there, along with my neat stack of personal money, was an additional $200, which I'd withdrawn from the bank on the day I'd bought Sam's money order. It would be enough to feed her for the next week at least...

...and I wasn't letting her leave Yakima without it.

And then, leaning with my back against the mausoleum's wide, sun-warmed, rear granite wall, I went over my itinerary in my mind one last time.

The minute I get Sam back here, the First order of business is to feed her...

...until she's ready to explode.

The Second order of business is to give her the money...

...insisting that she take it...

...no matter how much she protests.

And then, the Third order of business...

...is to lean across to her side of the bedspread, and to kiss her...

...slowly and lingeringly...

...while telling her how much I've missed her...

...and reminding her how much I love her...

...and that I always will.

And then, when she's kissing me back, just as willingly...

...to lie back and to gently pull her body down on top of mine.

She'd agreed to talk to me today...

...but I wasn't going to let her...

...because I knew what I wanted now.

The same thing she's wanted...for such a long time.

And so, after halting her words with my lips...

...I'll continue kissing her...

...taking my time, not pushing in any way...

...slowly and with feeling...

...very, very gradually getting her aroused...

...until it becomes clear that she wants more...

...and then I'll take her right hand between both of my own...

...and pull it toward me...

...letting her touch me everywhere...

...and touching her back...

...gently, slowly, and seductively...

...until she isn't able say 'no' anymore...

...and then, still lying there, and completely trusting, I'll let her undress me...

...completely...

...and then, aching to feel her touch again...

...I'm going to look deeply into her eyes...

...and nod...

...and _then_, no matter what she wants to do to my weak, yearning, unfulfilled body...

...I'm going to let her.

Despite the sun's warmth, I shivered slightly from anticipation, and then, glancing at my watch, I realized that it was time...

...time for me to turn my back on this place and get up to the cemetery's front gate...

...but still, I kept staring down at the sun-flooded patch of grass in front of my feet...

...realizing that, a little more than an hour from now...

...I'm going to be lying on it...

…wearing nothing...

...willingly..._lovingly_...letting Sam take my virginity.

I checked my watch again. There was no more time to daydream...

...and so, brimming with nervous excitement, I finished my circuit of the grounds...

...staring back up the paths between each row of graves as I passed them...

...relieved to see that every one of them was still empty...

...and that I was still completely alone.

And then, once I'd reached the front entrance and was standing in our agreed-upon position...

...with my heart pounding wildly, I turned around slowly...

...and looked across the street...

...through the front entrance of Chesterton Park...

...and then, over to the massive oak tree that stood so near it.

At first, the park appeared to be just as empty as the cemetery was...

...but then...over at the tree's left edge...

...I caught the barest glimpse of a flash of gray sweatshirt sleeve.

_She was there!_

And then, as I stood watching...

...breathless...

...a wide wave of curly blonde hair slowly appeared...

...and two seconds later, ever so slowly, she cautiously looked around it...and then stepped out, halfway into view...

...and at that moment, I almost broke down and cried...

...but not from joy...

...because even from across the street, by the way her clothes were hanging on her, I clearly saw how much weight she had lost...

...and it completely broke my heart.

But then she saw me...

...and her eyes lit up...

...and, as she stared at me, they were so full of joy...

...and so full of love...

...that I bit my lower lip, which suddenly was trembling.

And then, she stepped out completely from behind the tree...

...clutching the handles of a large, bulging brown _Arthur's Deli_ logo shopping bag in her left hand...

...and, hoisting it high into the air, she began pointing at it rapidly and repeatedly with her right one...

...while breaking into a wide, triumphant grin...

...and suddenly, I wasn't even thinking anymore about how we were soon going to be intimate...

...because all my mind could focus on now was how I couldn't wait to feed her!

Smiling back, and gazing at her through suddenly-watery eyes, I pointed to the bouquet I was holding.

Without hesitation, she nodded understandingly...

...and stepped back behind her tree.

Out of sight.

And, turning back around...

...I observed a moment of silence...and then, leaning forward and down, I carefully placed the bouquet onto my grandmother's grave...

...fervently hoping that she couldn't read minds from where she was, up in heaven...

...and therefore would have no idea what I was about to do with Sam, less than two hundred feet away...

...behind the Warren family's mausoleum.

I took a moment to collect my thoughts, and then said, "Hi, Grandmom. I just wanted you to know that it's the Seventh, and I haven't forgotten...and that, even though I miss you terribly, I'm happy that you're not suffering anymore...and that you're with Mom...and that I love you, and I always will."

I spent the next five minutes in silence, remembering the many wonderful, happy times the two of us had shared together...

...and then, after promising to come and see her again and see her before I left for Seattle, I said 'goodbye'...

...and then looked over my right shoulder...

...and caught sight of Sam.

She was peeking out from behind the tree...

...waiting.

Seconds later, I was looking down into my backpack, fumbling around for my baseball cap...

...slightly annoyed, as I realized that I'd left it at the bottom.

Nearly a minute passed before I finally found it, tangled up in the bedspread's folds...

...and then, before I could even put it on, I felt a thrill shoot through my entire body; because, even though I hadn't given the signal yet...

...I felt gentle hand on my shoulder...

...and, full of nervous excitement, I spun around...

...but instead of my brown eyes clamping onto two blue ones...

...I found myself staring at the front of a black polo shirt...

...and lifted my shocked eyes to see...

...Grandad.

No!

_Oh, God...no!_

And, devastated...

...and without meaning to...

...I burst into tears.

"I know. I know how much you miss her," he said gravely.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" I sobbed...

...while shaking uncontrollably.

"I came to be with you," he answered.

I wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my shirt...

...frantically trying (and failing) to pull myself back together.

"But what about the golf g-game...and your b-bet?"

He shook his head, then stated, "As I drove away, saw you walking into the florist shop, and I remembered how upset you'd looked this morning, and that's when I remembered that today is the Seventh...and so I realized _why_ you wanted to go buy flowers; so I called Rick and canceled for the day."

Lifting my mournful eyes to his, I said, "Thank you, but...I'd...l-like to be by myself right now."

"Nonsense," he replied, not even stopping to think the matter over. "When you're grieving, with your family is where you belong."

"Wh-what?" I blurted out, not believing my ears. "You two couldn't stand each other!"

He hesitated for a moment, and then replied, "I'm...sorry that you remember that."

"Please, I just w-want to be by myself," I repeated.

"Why?" he asked. "Is it because me being here brings back bad memories?"

I didn't know how to answer, and so, trying to buy time, I wiped my still-streaming eyes on the back of my hand and stared down at Grandmom's grave. From the corner of my eye, I saw Grandad pull a clean handkerchief from his back pocket and hold it out to me...

...and then, as I took it from his outstretched hand...

...I felt his other one on my right shoulder...

...and, before I realized what was happening or could protest, he was leading me over to a nearby bench. Sitting down on it, he reached up and then, to my horror, he pulled me down next to him...

...with my back to the park...

...and to Sam...

...and, instantly, I began cursing myself for asking him to drop me off where he did...

...directly in front of the florist's shop!

If I hadn't, none of this would be happening!

And what the hell could I do about it now?

The sound of his voice pulled me back to the present.

"It wasn't always that way," he began. "I thought that the two of us would be together forever."

"Grandad, I...I want to leave."

"Shh. I don't want you to walk out of here thinking only of the bad times she and I had. We spent our honeymoon in Ocean Shores."

"I was there once...and I'd love to go back; because it _is_ beautiful," I agreed...

...hoping to hurry the reminiscing along...

...so he'd leave...

...me alone.

"Yes, it is," he repeated. After a long moment of silence, he continued, "Our first five or six years together were the happiest ones of my life."

From there, his oratory dragged on...

...endlessly

...and unbearably...

...and as soon as I could, I sneaked glance down at my watch.

Nearly half an hour had elapsed...

...and I wasn't even hearing what he was saying anymore...

...because all I could think about was Sam...

...and what she must be feeling.

"...was a good mother to Steven," he continued...

...and, suddenly, I absolutely couldn't take it anymore.

"Grandad, I...really want to be by myself right now," I said again.

Stopping mid-sentence, he looked at me in surprise.

"Why?"

"I...just want to...to think."

"About what?" he asked.

How to answer that?

"I don't know...I just...do," I replied lamely. "And then...I...I want to take a walk."

"To where?"

"I...don't know," I repeated.

"No," he argued, "Not right now. I see how distraught you are, and I don't want you absent-mindedly wandering out into traffic as a result. We can go for a walk tomorrow...just the two of us...to watch the sunrise."

"B-but...I promise I won't wander into-"

Grandad reached forward and took hold of my hand, interrupting, "Come on, I'll drive you home."

Panicking, I tried to withdraw my hand from his.

"No!"

Yes," he answered firmly, "I insist."

"No!"

"Carly, I see how upset you are. Staying here is only going to make you feel worse; so it's time to leave now."

B-but-"

"Come on," he persisted...

...and somehow, before I even knew what was happening, he was leading me through the front gates...

...and then about twenty feet down the street, to where his car was parked.

As we exited the cemetery, I looked frantically toward Sam's tree...

...but I didn't see her sleeve...

...or her hair...

...but...she _was_ still there! I told myself.

She _had_ to be!

And then I saw Grandad holding the car's passenger door open, and I felt him put his other hand on my shoulder, and steer me forward...

...and, completely helpless, I got in.

Thirty seconds later he was sitting beside me, in the drivers seat...

...but before he could start the engine..

...I lost it...

...and leaned forward, where, with my forehead pressed against the dashboard...

...I started to bawl.

"I know, I know," he murmured, "you'll feel better once we get home."

"N-no!" I sobbed. "I want to be by myself!"

"But-"

"I just wanted to walk!" I reminded him.

"Look, Car-"

"Grandad, _please_!" I begged...

...now way beyond desperate. "Please, just let me go! I want to w-walk for a while!"

"Okay, he agreed suddenly...

...and, shaking from relief, I wiped my eyes on the back of my hand...

...but immediately started crying again, as I I heard him say, "We'll walk."

"But...I want to be alone!" I insisted.

Completely ignoring my request, he continued, "I'll come back and get the car later."

"No!" I argued. "I want to be by mysel-"

"We can stop at that little bakery over on Spruce Street," he added...

...still ignoring me, "I know how much you love their butter cookies, and you haven't had them once since you got here. It's my treat."

And then, he was holding the car door open for me...

...and desperate, yet dutifully, I got out...

...convinced that things couldn't possibly get any worse...

...but soon realized that I was very, very wrong...

...when he put an arm around my shoulder and steered me across the street...

...and my sorrow turned to terror, as I realized that...

_...he was taking a shortcut through the park!_

With my heart in my throat, I followed him across the street...

...and through the front entrance gates.

Ten feet up the path, now completely frantic (and for more than one reason), I looked over, behind  
>Sam's tree.<p>

She was gone.

As Grandad led me forward, he was looking to his left, over to where the park's fountain was...

...which meant that I was the only one who saw the large, overstuffed_ Arthur's Deli _shopping bag...

...its contents still completely untouched...

...less than ten feet away from the tree...

...protruding from the top of the park's nearby trash can...

...where she had abandoned it.

She was gone.

Twenty minutes later, we were walking out Yakima's _Swiss Haus_ bakery...

...and he was handing me a huge bag of butter cookies...

...but even though they're my absolute favorite...I couldn't even eat one.

We walked around aimlessly for another half hour or so, Grandad obviously thinking that he was indulging/satisfying my whims; and then, to my utter relief, we headed home.

The minute we entered the house Grandad headed straight to the kitchen, announcing, "I'll make you some hot tea."

"No...thanks," I mumbled.

At this, he looked back over his shoulder, asking, "Well then, would you rather have milk with your cookies?"

"No...I...I didn't sleep last night," I replied...

...desperate to get away from him...

..before I killed him for ruining my day...

...and my life...

...then continuing, "and so, I...want to try to take a nap."

"That's a good idea," he agreed, "so go ahead. I have to run some papers down to the office anyway, for Monday morning, and I'll pick up the car on my way back."

Nodding, I slowly and wordlessly walked over to the kitchen counter and set the still-full bakery bag down...

...and then, worn-out and numb, I headed down the hall toward the bedroom...

...dragging my feet the entire way.

Sitting down on the far edge of my bed, I stared listlessly out the window; but as soon as I saw Grandad reach the end of the driveway, turn left, and begin walking down the street...

...I was frantically dialing Sam's number.

She didn't answer.

"Sam, it's me...and I'm sorry! _I'm so sorry!_ Look, I'm home right now, and he's not here...so it's safe to call me. Please call me...as soon as you get this!" I told her...

...but she didn't call me back...

...even though I left four more messages in the next two hours.

By that time, I was becoming frantic...

...begging her to call me back...

...but she wasn't answering her phone...

...and I was panicking...

...because during a whispered conversation I'd had with her that morning, right before she boarded the bus, she'd assured me that she had her cell phone with her...

...and that it was fully charged.

And, by the time I'd left my eleventh message, I was crying my eyes out...

...because it didn't take much to figure out what had happened.

And it was all my fault.

I had selfishly neglected her for so long...

...and now our plans were ruined...

...and we both knew that there wasn't going to be another chance...

...and now she's given up.

She can't take it anymore and she's giving up...

...on us.

And now, she doesn't even want to talk to me ever again!

Tearfully, I snatched the phone off my nightstand yet again.

"H-he's not here! P-please, Sam...I _know_ you're there! I'm sorry about what happened! I swear I'll find a way to make it up to you...I_ swear_ it! Please, just talk to me!"

But she didn't...

...even though I tried, over and over again...

...all the while praying that I was wrong...

...and that there was some explanation for why she wouldn't call...

...and that she still wanted to be with me.

Finally, at nine pm, I stopped.

It was no good.

In all the years I've known her, Sam has never, _ever_ thrown food away. And now, even though she's starving, she's turned her back on a huge bag of groceries...

...just like she's turned her back on me.

Oh, God! This isn't happening! It_ can't_ happen!

Because if it does..._I'll die!_

And then, despite having given up, I called her again...

...nine more times...

...leaving nine more messages...

...crying, apologizing...

_...begging..._

...but still, not a word.

Around seven, Grandad had practically dragged me from my room...

...sitting me down at the kitchen table, in front of a huge platter of London Broil...

...which he knows is my favorite of all his barbecued specialties...

...but, after staring at it for what seemed forever...

...with my stomach growing more and more agitated by the minute...

...I just shook my head...and then got up silently and headed into the bathroom...

...where I spent the next half hour taking a long, hot shower...

...letting the rushing sound of water drown out my sobs.

Thirty minutes later, I was in my pajamas, lying on my bed in the darkness...

...alone...

...staring up at the ceiling...

...and forced to confront the truth.

She's given up on us.

And now, somehow, I have to find the strength to let her go.

But I have no idea how to do that.

**July 8th**:

I don't remember passing out...

...falling abruptly into a shallow, tormented sleep...

...but I do remember what woke me up.

It was the tapping that was coming from across the room...

...the tapping on my bedroom window...

...and, as I opened my eyes, I saw the illuminated display of the alarm clock on my bedside table.

12:03 a.m.

Groggily rolling onto my left side, I stared across the darkness, to the other side of the room, and looked out window...

_...and there she was..._

...her dark shape silhouetted against a cloudless, midnight blue sky, full of stars...

...and I had to clamp my had over my mouth to keep from screaming her name.

Immediately, and without making a sound, she slid the lower half of the window sash upward...

...and climbed through it...

...into my room.

Sitting bolt upright, I flung my open arms toward her...and, my voice trembling violently, I managed to utter a single word.

"S-s-sam!"

Shh," she whispered softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed...

...with her hips right next to mine.

Immediately, I flung my arms around her neck.

"I know, Carls...I know," she said softly. "I'm so sorry. I wanted to call you; but, considering what happened earlier, I was afraid he'd walk in on the conversation and hear what we were plan-"

Stopping mid-sentence, she looked nervously toward my bedroom door...

...and I knew what she was thinking.

"Don't worry," I whispered. "I always lock it."

With a nod, she continued, "Anyway I wanted to call you; I really did-"

"Don't," I interrupted...

...forgiving her instantly. "Don't beat yourself up. You didn't do anything wrong."

Instead of agreeing with me, she added, "And there's...something else I have to apologize for. The bag of food...I'm really sorry, but I...I was so frustrated that I...I stuffed it...into-"

"That doesn't matter," I said quickly.

"Yes it does," she insisted, in a very low voice, "and I'm really, really sorry. I went back for it two hours later, but it was gone. The can was completely empty, so I guess the grounds crew emptied-"

"Sam, I don't care about-"

"I _do_ care," she persisted, "...that was over eighty dollars worth of your mon-"

Not wanting her to dwell on it, I attempted to change the subject, asking, "Where have you been all day?"

"Down at _Murphy's Pool Hall_," she replied, "getting your money back."

Stunned, I repeated, "_Murphy's_? The pool hall over on West 27th street? That's right in the middle of the worst neighborhood in Yakima!"

"Shh," she admonished, "keep your voice down. I don't care. All that matters is that, even though it took almost nine hours, I got your money back...all of it."

Releasing herself from my arms and standing up, she reached into the right front pocket of her navy cargo shorts and after a bit of digging pulled out about twelve crumpled bills. Getting up off the bed, she walked around to its far side, over to my nightstand; and, after stacking the money and folding it in half, she slid it partway under my alarm clock.

As she sat back down, this time on that side of the bed, I reached over, pulling her as close to me as I could, but seconds later, she was gently untangling herself from my arms...

...and with her hands on my shoulders, she leaned back, saying in a faltering voice, "I...I just want to...look at you for a minute."

But I couldn't wait that long...

...and I pulled her close to me again...

...and suddenly, she was holding me too, just as close...

...and with a profound sense of relief, I felt my body go limp in her arms.

Seconds later, my lips found hers in the darkness.

As she felt them moving gently on her own, she hesitated...

...but only for a second or two...

...and then she was kissing me back...

...with such love and gratitude that I was blinking tears away.

And then, suddenly, her lips left mine, and understanding why...

...I obediently tilted my head back.

And, as she kissed my neck...

...again and again...

...I felt my stomach swoop...

...and then, less than five seconds later, my entire body lurched sharply, up and to the left...

...from the intensity of the first violent contraction I'd just felt between my legs.

"Oh, Sam," I breathed, "..._please_!"

Instead of answering with words, she merely nodded; and, wrapping her arms more tightly around my waist...

...she brought her lips to mine again.

And, only a few minutes later...

...seconds after her mouth had opened against my own...

...my hips were shifting on the mattress...

...not once, but several times...

...because of the way my body was awakening to her touch...

...not gradually...

...but with a rapidly-escalating, aching and desperate urge.

Letting go of her shoulders, I reached down and, taking hold of her left hand with my trembling right one...

...I brought it up to my chest. After a moment's hesitation, she rested it between my breasts...

...and I could feel the warmth of her open palm through the surface of my pajama jacket...

...but only for a moment...

...because it was soon far surpassed by the heat of my body...

...as it reacted to her touch.

Dropping my own left hand to her lap, I began caressing her bare knees, first one and then the other...

...and then, less than a minute later, I felt her left one flinch sharply under my palm...

...and I knew why.

She had just felt a sharp contraction between her legs.

And then, the headiness of how I was making her feel, coupled with the rapid and powerful sensations that were coursing through my own body...

...more and more frequently...

...were suddenly surpassed by another sensation...

...a much subtler one...

...but just as meaningful...

...because my swollen, sensitive vulva was now brimming with the wetness of my arousal...

...and I clearly felt, with the slightest tremor, my outer lips part slightly as, unable to contain even one more drop, it overflowed...

...and I felt first dribble of wetness leaking out of me..

...and into my panties...

...and I shifted my hips, loving the way it felt...

...causing a second, longer one to escape my body...

...and, as I felt it soak into the silk between my legs...

...and while struggling to master my uneven breathing, I whispered, "Be with me."

N-no," she replied...

...without even pausing to consider.

"Yes," I persisted.

"We can't, Carls," she whispered, "...you _know _we can't."

"_Please!_" I implored her. "We won't make any noise...I promise!"

She shook her head.

"Please, don't stop," I repeated.

"I...have to," she announced...sounding genuinely regretful.

"Just help me feel good...just for a little while longer, we won't finish,"...

...I lied.

And then, while I sat, motionless, fearful, and hopeful ...

...slowly, ever so slowly...

...she nodded.

Seconds later, I was kicking the covers down to the end of the bed...

...and she was kicking her sneakers off...

..and barely had they thudded to the floor, she was climbing on top of me...

...and, as the weight of her body pushed my own far down into the mattress, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to feel her hand on me again...

...directly against my bare skin this time...

...but both of them were currently tangled in my hair.

Reaching up and around her, I rested my palms against her back, feeling her gray hooded sweatshirt under them as I pulled her even closer to me.

And then, as I lay under her...

...helpless and weak...

...she was kissing me again...

...and my body responded to it eagerly...

...rapidly becoming more and more aroused...

...and suddenly, I nearly cried out, as I felt another contraction...

...one so strong that a long stream of wetness spurted thickly out of me...

...its warm slickness completely saturating the crotch of my already-damp panties.

This was soon surpassed by yet another sensation...

...the feeling of her body shifting on top of mine, occasionally at first, but then more and more frequently...

...and obviously from the sensations of arousal that were shooting rapidly through it.

As her lips came to the right side of my neck again, I was turning my head to the left on the pillow...

...looking out of my window, and into the star-filled night...

...and, as I lay watching, from somewhere up and to the left of the window, just out of sight, a sliver of moon came out...

...its faint light turning the darkness a slightly less deep shade of black...

...lighting up the countless stars even more brilliantly, before sending its rays sliding silently through the window...

...and across the bed.

Suddenly, I realized that her kisses had stopped...and, anxious and confused, I turned my face away from the window, and found myself looking upward...

...into her sad eyes.

"Carls," she whispered, "I'm sorry...but we can't."

"Sam..._please_!"

"But-" she began...

...but I was unwilling to let her finish.

"Please," I begged, whispering as loudly as I dared, "I want to so badly. I _need_ to...so _badly!_"

Clearly hearing the pain and desperation in my voice, she hesitated...

...wavering.

"Sam, please!" I urged. "I swear I won't make any noise!"

"But-" she began again.

I cut her off with my lips...

...but less than a minute later, she pulled her head back, repeating sadly, "I...can't."

"You _want_ to," I reminded her.

With a look of surprise, she asked, "How do you know tha-"

And then, she stopped speaking...

...because my right hand was moving downward...

...and then upward...

...up between her legs...

...and I clearly felt the wet spot on outside of her cargo shorts. After a bit, my gently-searching fingers found its edges...

...and, from its wide size, I knew what it meant: That her boxers were soaked.

And that she needed release just as desperately as I did.

Immediately reaching down to her zipper with shaking hands, I tried to open it...

...but she stopped me with both of her own.

"No. You first," she said softly...

...and, without hesitation, I nodded.

Without a word, I took hold of her right hand and slowly guided it down between my legs...

...and then, I looked into her eyes and uttered a single word.

"Please."

And then, I felt her fingers probing gently...

...feeling how wet the outside of my pajama pants were...

...and then, they came to rest directly against them...

...pressing against me gently...

...and I knew why. She was feeling the faint, yet unmistakeable pulsing underneath them...

...which was caused by the non-stop throbbing of my vagina...

...and, seconds later, she was fumbling with my drawstring.

"Please, please touch me!" I whispered frantically. "Please, Sam! I'm begging y-"

"Shh. I...will...I'm...trying to" she replied struggling to get them open, helped only slightly by the faint light in the room. "You know," she added, "you're the only person I know who ties their drawstring in a double bow."

"Doesn't everyone?" I asked in surprise.

"I don't," she answered.

"What? Why not?"

"Because I prefer...easy access."

"For who?" I demanded.

Instead of answering, she smiled wickedly...

...but only for a moment.

"Kidding, Cupcake."

Finally, nearly a minute later, she had them untied.

"I love you," I breathed.

"You know I love you back," she whispered, hesitating, "but...are you...sure about this? I wanted your first time to be special."

"Please!" I begged her, "Sam,_ please_...I swear I can't wait any longer!"

"O...kay," she answered slowly...

...yet still hesitated, for almost a minute...

...but finally, she pulled them down, over my hips...

...and then completely off me...

...and as she did, I felt a rush of coolness between my legs...

...but only in one spot...

...as the night air easily penetrating the soaking wet silk.

And then, Sam was looking between my legs...

...and, leaning forward, I was too...

...looking down at the crotch of my panties.

Even in the semi-darkness, it was easy to see that they were drenched.

Less than five seconds later, leaning forward, she slid her hands under my back...

...and then carefully pulled me up into a seated position...

...and I sat patiently, as she unbuttoned my pajama jacket.

After sliding it from my shoulders and then completely off me, she lay me back down...

...and reaching up, I put my hands on her breasts...

...but she moved them away.

"No...don't," she murmured. "Just let me...okay?"

Without hesitation, I nodded...

...and she leaned forward again...

...directly over my body...

...and, wrapping my arms around her, I rested my hands on her upper back...

...as her right one slid down between my legs.

And, as I felt its heat warming the wet, clammy crotch of my panties, I turned my head and looked out the window again...

...at the brilliance of the innumerable stars...

...which began to blur as she pressed her fingertips against me and began sliding them up and down the drenched silk that clung wetly to my vulva...

...blurring from the tears in my eyes...

...but this time, they were tears of relief...

...because after all of the pain I'd just lived through, my suffering was about to end...

...at least for one night...

...and all of this accumulated, unbearable stress was about to leave my aching body.

And, as I lay under her...

...nearly naked...

...feeling my arousal building steadily...

...as wave after wave of sensation rippled through me...

...pulling me, willingly, closer and closer to climax...

...I was breathlessly waiting..._aching_...for her hand to slip inside my panties...

...and then inside my body...

Now breathing raggedly...

...I turned my attention away from the window and upward, turning my face to the ceiling...

...watching its subtle, shifting patterns of dark and light patches from the moon's pale light, as it slid through the tree branches outside my window...

...until seconds later, I gasped loudly...

...because suddenly, the ceiling was a uniform shade of glaring, bright white...

...because the light fixture in its center had just been turned on...

...and seconds later, I felt Sam's body being dragged off mine...

...and across the bed...

...toward his.

And, as she sprawled at its far edge, on her back, uttering a cry of surprise, I saw that he wasn't looking at her at all...

...but instead, was staring down at me, lying there...

...with my legs still wide open...

...but instead of looking into my eyes, he was staring directly at the soaking wet crotch of my panties...

...and instantly, his expression of anger morphed into one of pure rage.

Whipping his face around to hers, he yelled, "How did you get in here? And what were you doing to her? Answer me, you filth! Right now!"

But before she could...

...he had reached up with his left hand and, grabbing a fistful of her hair...

...he yanked her head back...

...and, as she cried out in pain...

...he swung his right arm back.

And, heart in my throat, I sat up and grabbed it...

...but my hand slid off it as it moved back and out of my reach.

"Grandad..._no_!" I begged...

...but it was too late.

Swinging his arm back around...

...as hard as he could...

...his open palm collided violently with Sam's face...

...with an ear-splittingly-loud crack...

...and, with a scream...I sat up in bed...

...in complete darkness...

...just as a second crack of lightning lit up the night sky...

...followed by the sound of pouring rain.

And, suddenly, I found myself looking out into the pitch black, completely starless night...

...but only for a second...

...because then I was looking frantically around my room.

She wasn't there...

...and neither was he.

It was just me...

...lying in my bed surrounded by complete darkness..

...alone...

...still dressed in my pajamas.

No!

_**NO!**_

This isn't happening!

She...she _was_ here!

_**She was!**_

No matter what he did to her...and no matter what he was _going_ to do...she was! She must have escaped! _**She was here!**_

Because, if she wasn't...if she didn't come back...then...then it means that...that she doesn't love me!

Flinging my body across the bed, I switched my table lamp on and, heart pounding frantically, I looked across the room at the bedroom door...

...the closed bedroom door...

_...which was locked!_

No!

_**She was here! **_

He must have locked it as he was leaving! After she had escaped!

_**She was here!**_

The money! The money that she left on my nightstand!

That proves she was here!

Reaching over, I grabbed my alarm clock, and lifted it quickly...

...but there was nothing underneath!

It fell! It fell onto the floor! _It must have! _And it's lying there right now...

...right next to her sneakers!

Scrambling out of bed...

...I frantically searched every part of the floor in the dim light, including under the furniture...

...but it wasn't there...

...and neither were her sneakers.

Grandad took the money!

_He took it! _

He took it before he left the room and locked the door! And she grabbed her sneakers just before she climbed back out the window and escaped!

Please, God..._please!_

_**SHE WAS HERE!**_

Still on my knees, with both hands shaking violently, I grabbed the bottom of my pajama jacket and lifted it...

...and then, I looked down at my drawstring...

...which was still tied...

...in a double bow.

NO!

_**NO!**_

I reached up and snatched my phone, which I'd set to vibrate, off the nightstand.

There were no messages.

Tearful, I jumped back onto the bed, yanked the covers over my head, and dialed her number.

"Sam, please..._Please_! I know you're getting these! If you still love me, we can work this out! I'm begging you..._please _pick up the phone! Please!"

She didn't...and, throwing it down on my mattress...

...I cried into my pillow...

...for nearly half an hour.

It can't be over..._it can't! _And, even though I'd given up, I realized that I have to call her...

...one last time.

And, desperate, I took a few minutes...

...planning, word for word, what I wanted to tell her.

And then, I dialed again...

...one last time...

...but she didn't answer...

...and I didn't get her answering machine either...

...because, after only one ring, I heard an unfamiliar, pre-recorded voice.

_We're sorry, but we can't connect you. The person you are trying to reach has blocked your call...and is no longer accepting calls from this number._

And, flinging the covers off my head, I slapped my phone down on the nightstand...

...and rolled over onto my stomach.

And, now crying hard...

...I shoved my hand inside my pajama bottoms...

...and far down inside my panties...

...my completely dry panties...

...as far down between my legs as I could...

...and then, shoving two fingers inside my outer lips...

...I began to finger myself...

...as hard as I could...

...as I buried my face into my pillow and bawled.

It was over.

No Sam.

No First Time...

...and at that moment, all I could think about what that I absolutely couldn't take it anymore...

...and that I desperately needed to orgasm...

...or I'd go insane.

And I was crying...because it hurt so badly...

...both my heart and my clitoris...

...but not caring...

...because, even though I was rapidly becoming sore, I couldn't feel anything else...

...was completely unable to become the least bit aroused...

_...and I needed to..._

...because I was about to lose my mind...

...and so, I doubled my efforts...

...but still, nothing.

And then, I was slamming my crotch down against my frantically rubbing fingers...

...as hard as I could...

...now thinking about the most despicable thing in the world.

I was thinking about Sam raping me...

...vividly picturing her holding me down on my back, and forcing my legs apart...

...while, in my mind, I screamed for her to stop...

...but she refused...

...and, after ripping my clothes off, she began doing the most horribly painful things to me...

...between my legs...

...and, even though she was hurting me so badly physically...

...I had to let her...

...because being ignored by her would be far worse.

And now, I was crying even harder...

...because I finally felt myself starting to get wet...

...and that was the reason why.

And I hated myself for it...

...hating that it was only way I could feel anything...

...hating that the thought of her forcing herself on me...completely against my will...

...was causing me to get wetter and wetter...

...and then, while crying hard...

...as my body began climbing toward orgasm...

...while, in my mind, she forcibly and violently raped me...

...suddenly, my bedroom light switched on.

I hadn't heard him unlock door...

...with his extra key...

...and, terrified, I lifted my face from the pillow...

...and then slowly turned my head to the left, facing in his direction...

...with my hand still inside my panties...

...while fervently praying that he wouldn't pull the covers the rest of the way off me...

...and that he couldn't smell my arousal through them...

...even though I clearly could.

"Carly, what's wrong?" he asked.

"B-b-b-bad dream," I managed to utter.

"Yes, it must be from the storm," he observed.

"I'm f-fine."

"No," he replied, "you're not. I see how upset you are...and I know that you've been afraid of thunderstorms since you were a little girl. Between that and your grandmother's-"

"N-no...I'm okay now," I said quickly.

He shook his head...

...and then announced, "I'm going to leave your bedroom door open, for the rest of the night."

"N-no!" I gasped. "That's not neces...I don't want you to!"

"I'm going to anyway," he replied. "And I'm going to leave mine open also. In case you have another nightmare, I want to hear, so I can wake you up again."

And then, before I could argue further, he'd left.

And I knew that I didn't dare disobey him.

And now, I realized that Sam hadn't been here at atll...

...and that she was gone...

...forever...

...and now, I couldn't even do anything to relieve my overwhelming agony. Not moving from the position in which he'd found me, I reached across to my nightstand...

...with my trembling left hand...

...and then, I checked my messages...

...one last time.

She hadn't called.

And so, extending my arm fully...

...until it was hanging over the edge of the bed...

...I let the phone drop onto the floor.

And then, I lay there in the darkness...

...completely numb...

...until, only minutes later, through some small act of mercy, I blacked out...

...still lying on my stomach...

...with my right hand still in my panties...

...and with my heart shattered in my chest.


	16. Chapter 16

The sound of a car door slamming woke me up abruptly...

...and opening my swollen, stinging eyes a crack, I squinted over at my alarm clock.

9:07 a.m.

And then, as I heard the car's motor start, I realized that it was Sunday morning...

...and Grandad was leaving for church...

...without me.

This event was absolutely unprecedented, and for moment thought I might be dreaming again; but then it occurred to me that, after seeing how upset I'd been yesterday, he had decided to let me sleep in.

Last night's torrential rain hadn't subsided in the least, which explained why he was taking the car; on nice mornings, since our church is only four blocks from his house, we'd usually walk there.

I spent the next several minutes massaging my tightly-knotted neck and scalp...non-stop...but it had no effect whatsoever on my screaming headache...

...but that, as agonizing as it felt, was nothing compared to the excruciating emptiness in my chest.

I couldn't believe what had happened last night.

It was over.

I'd thought that she and I were going to be together...

...for the rest of our lives...

...but now it was over.

And she was the one who had ended it...

...shutting me out of her her heart...

...and out of her life...

_...forever..._

...without telling me that she was sorry...

...and without even saying 'goodbye'.

Howcould she have done it? After more than eight years,_ how_ could Sam hav-

Before I could finish asking this unbearable question, let alone come up with an answer, my thoughts were suddenly interrupted by another sound...

...a much quieter, and somewhat muffled one.

One which was coming from somewhere down on the floor...

...and, suddenly, I realized what it was.

My phone was vibrating.

Rolling (with difficulty) onto my stomach, I leaned to my left, and then looked over the edge of the bed...

...to see my phone, exactly where I'd dropped it, lying face-up...

...and, from its illuminated display, I realized that it was Sam who was calling me...

...but at that same moment, I also realized that I had absolutely no desire to talk to her.

Not after last night.

Not after what she'd deliberately done.

Nevertheless, after only a moment's deliberation, I (reluctantly) turned it on anyway, and held it to my ear...

...and waited in silence.

There was a short pause, and then, tentatively, I heard her say, "Carls?"

"_Yes?"_ I replied...

...immediately and coldly.

Another few seconds of silence followed, but then she took a deep breath and continued...

...with a horribly-resolute determination in her voice, "There's something I...have to tell you."

"Don't bother," I answered...

...again rudely...

...attempting to hide my indescribable pain behind an (hopefully) impenetrable shield of indifference and contempt, "I think you made things perfectly clear last night."

"How could I have?" she asked, "...when I didn't even call y-"

"**Exactly!**" I shouted. "You _didn't_! Why didn't you call me, Sam? _Why__?"_

Without hesitation, she began, "Because-"

"I left you message after message! _Why_ didn't you call me?" I demanded again.

Again, she stated, "I couldn't be-"

"You couldn't be bothered?" I interrupted loudly. Well, maybe now _**I**_ can't be bothered!"

"What's...that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like!" I shot back.

She was silent again...

...but only for a few seconds more, before continuing, ""Listen, Carls-"

"No, Sam, _**you**_ listen...**to this!**" I yelled...

...hanging up on her immediately...

...and instantly regretting it...

...while thinking, what did I just do?

_**What the hell did I just do?**_

Oh, no...oh, God, _**NO**__!_

I've just made things between us far, far worse! She already wants to break up with me...

...and now, if she had any doubts whatsoever about her decision, I've just destroyed them...completely!

And, even worse, now I have no way of calling her back! Even if I use a public pay phone, she's going to recognize the Yakima area code...

...and now, after what I just did, there's no way she's going to answer it!

And, suddenly, I knew that the time for wishes was long past...

...which meant that it was time to pray.

Sitting up (with difficulty), I ignored the crippling pain in my head as best I could; and then, bending forward, I hunched over my phone and began rocking back and forth...

...trying hard not to cry, as I closed my eyes and said out loud, "Lord, I'm so sorry! I _never _should have hung up on her! It's just that...she's hurt me so badly! And, all these h-horrible things have happened to me, and keep happening to me...over and over again...and I have _no __idea __why_! But still, I _know_ that shouldn't have hung up, because I can't live without Sam in my life! You know I can't! I d-didn't even _**try**_ to talk her out of leaving me...and now it's probably too late! Please, Lord, just let her call me, just one more time...please, _I'm begging You _to let her-"

At that moment my eyes snapped open...

...because my phone was vibrating...

...and after saying a hasty 'thanks and amen', I gratefully clapped the phone to my ear...

...and yelled,_** "What do you want **__**now**__**, Sam!"**_

"W-well," she replied, then hesitated momentarily, "...like I told you earlier, there's something I need to say to you...something bad." There was another short pause, as she apparently gathered her thoughts. "I...wish I didn't have to tell you this-" she finally continued...

...but I wasn't having it.

"Why are you doing this?" I demanded, instantly cutting her off. "I already know what you're going to say!"

"H-how do you know?" she asked.

"You know _exactly_ how I know! Because actions speak louder than words!" I snapped...

...feeling more than a little guilty, as I did, for not properly showing my gratitude that she'd actually called me back...

...but still, completely unable to stop acting so obnoxiously defensive, because of the way she'd destroyed my heart last night...

...and was about to again...

...forever.

"Carls, look-" she began again.

"No, Sam," I interrupted, "_**you**_ look! Why are you insisting on adding insult to injury? I already know that you're about to-"

"Carls, I'm no happier about this than you are," she broke in. "It isn't an easy thing for me to tell y-"

"_Oh, yes it is!"_ I screamed. "Do you think it's easy for_ me_? Your part is easy! _You're_ the one who made the decision to-"

"Let me know when it's my turn to speak," she stated, in a tone of voice which clearly revealed that she was becoming annoyed.

"I don't want to hear what you're going to tell me, Sam...I _can't_ hear it! Don't you understand how badly you're hur-"

"Still...I have to," she replied. "It's the responsible thing to d-"

"Then why didn't you call me last night, Sam..._why!_"

"I-" she began.

"I left you message after message after message!" I yelled.

"I couldn't be-"

"Oh, that's right," I shouted, cutting her off again, "...because you couldn't be bothered!"

"Let me know when it's my turn to spe-"

"Okay, then...go ahead and tell me!" I snapped. "Go on! Let's get it over with!"

This demand was followed by a long, stretched-out silence...

...on both ends of the phone line.

Finally, Sam broke it.

"Okay, I...wish I didn't have to have to tell you this, Carls," she began...

...but then, she hesitated for a moment...

...while I, shutting my eyes as tightly as I could...

...grabbed onto the edge of my nightstand with my free hand...

...ready to throw my phone across the room the instant she'd finished...

...hurling it with such force that it would break into countless, tiny pieces...

...which wouldn't matter anyway, because I wouldn't be needing a phone anymore.

"Look, Carls, I..." she began again...

...while I, immediately regretting having given her permission to say it, shouted, "Sam, no! Don't do this!"

"It's...already done," she stated flatly.

"Then, let's undo it!" I urged.

"I...can't," she answered.

"Why not?" I demanded.

She paused for a moment and then said slowly, "I can't because...and you know this as well as I do...that it's...it's...not there anymore."

"**It is!"** I screamed. **"It **_**is**_** there!"**

"I'm sorry, Carls...but it's not...and even if it was...I...don't want it anymore."

"H-how can you say that!" I yelled.

"Be...cause, it's not salvageable."

"It is! It is salvageable, Sam! You know it is...if you'll only try!"

"No, Carls," she answered...

...with heart-breaking finality. "It's not. And I don't want to try now."

"Please! Please, Sam, let's just _try_!" I begged.

"No. I'm not going to...because I don't want-Carls...are you drunk?" she asked suddenly.

"No!" I shouted. You know that I never dr-...wait...why do you think I am?"

"Because," she explained, "if you _weren't_, then you'd understand why I'm saying this."

"I don't!" I yelled. "I'll_ never _understand it!"

"You're...sure you're not drunk?" she persisted.

"No!" I repeated...

...just as angrily. "Why do you think I am?"

"Because...well then, why did you say that you already knew what I was about to tell y-"

"All I want you to tell me, Sam, is...why won't you just _try?_"

Without even stopping to reflect on my question, she answered, "Because even_ thinking_ about it makes me want to throw up."

"How can you say that?" I half-sobbed...

...at this latest, vicious slap in the face. "Don't you think you've already hurt me enough?"

"I-"

"Fine!" I yelled, suddenly desperate to get it over with. "If you are so determined to say it, then just say it!"

"But-"

"Start from the very beginning, Sam! Go ahead! Don't take my feelings into consideration! And make sure you don't leave anything out!" I shouted.

"But-"

"Go ahead...from the beginning!"

"I just tried to...but you keep interrupting me."

"_**JUST SAY IT, SAM! LET'S GET IT OVER WITH!"**_

She exhaled audibly, and then, began, "Okay. I have something to tell you...something bad."

"_And?"_

"And it's not easy for me to say, Carls."

"_And?"_

"And...it's unfortunate...but what's done is done."

"_Then why don't you stop fucking around and just do it?"_ I yelled.

"Do what?" she asked.

"Stop dragging your feet! Just say it, Sam! Since you're so hell-bent on hurting me even more than you already have! Just tell me why you're calling! And why you keep insisting that it's not there anymore! And that you don't want it now! And that it's not salvageable!"

"Because it's not," she replied. "Both the salami sub _and_ the potato salad have mayo in them; and the chocolate mousse is mostly dairy. It's all been sitting out in the hot July sun since yesterday. Eating it now is a guaranteed trip to Salmonella City...if it's even there anymore, which I'm sure it's not. And, even _thinking_ about eating rancid meat and mayo makes me want to throw up!"

"That's not what you were about to tell me!" I yelled hysterically. "You're just losing your nerve and making up some B.S. story to stall for time!"

"I'm...not," she answered...

...sounding bewildered.

"Yes, you are!" I shot back.

"Well then, what do you want me to say, Carls?" she asked...

...and I, now uncontrollably distraught, screamed, "The real reason you're calling...to break up with me!"

"Break up with you?" she yelled. "I'm not calling to break up with you! I'm calling to tell you that yesterday, I was so frustrated that I threw your bag of groceries away!"

"Wh-wh-at?" I spluttered...

...sure that, due to hysteria-induced wishful thinking, I'd heard her wrong.

"I'm not calling to break up with you...I'm calling to tell you that yesterday I threw your bag of groceries away!" she repeated...

...but I, still not believing her, demanded, "Then why won't you tell me why you didn't call me last night?"

"I've been trying, for the past twenty minutes," she answered, "but you refuse to let me! How can I, when you won't even let me finish a senten-?"

"Because, I'm _**upset**_, Sam!" I screamed.

"See?" she blurted out, "There you go again!"

This observation from her was followed by a long, drawn-out stretch of silence...

...and after nearly a minute, I asked, worriedly, "Sam, are you still there?"

"I am."

"Look," I faltered, "I'm...I'm going to stop interrupting you now...I promise. Just tell me what happened."

I had to wait for more than a minute...

...but finally, convinced by my silence that I was being sincere, she took a deep breath and began, "Okay. Yesterday morning, when I got to the park and hid, I set my phone to 'vibrate,' so I wouldn't draw attention to myself and blow my cover; and then, when I saw you, across the street, I figured that I wouldn't need the phone anymore, so I put it in my backpack. Anyway, I stayed there until I saw you and your grandad get into the car; and, since you were leaving, there didn't seem to be any point in hanging around anymore, so I left, too...and headed straight back home."

"Didn't you check your messages while you were on the bus?" I asked...

...still highly skeptical.

"No," she admitted. "I...fell asleep. After what I saw, I figured that you'd be spending at least the rest of the morning with him, which meant you wouldn't be able to talk openly anyway; so I decided to try calling you as soon as I got back to Sea-"

"Then...why didn't you?" I asked...

...forgetting that I'd promised not to interrupt...

...but still, she willingly continued, "By the time I got back to Seattle, I had to pee like crazy, and the bus station bathrooms are way beyond disgusting, so I ran six blocks to my place. Anyway, when I got in, my mom was sprawled on the living room couch. I threw my backpack onto the coffee table and ran past her, like a maniac, sprinting for the bathroom; but before I was even halfway down the hall, she yelled at me to come back into the living room..._**immediately!**_ I didn't want to because my eyeballs were floating, but I did anyway; and then she started flipping out on me, for not telling her where I was going, and asking me endless questions about where I went...and why. By the seventh one, I absolutely couldn't wait any longer, so I blew her off and tried to run the rest of the way down the hall but I..." her voice trailed off.

"But_ what_?" I prompted her impatiently.

"I...can't tell you, Carls. It's uh...embarrassing."

"Why?"

"Remember how I said I was running to the bathroom because I desperately needed to pee?" she mumbled.

"Yeah."

"Well, as it turns out, I...I...didn't...make it."

"Y-you mean you..._you peed your pants?_" I asked...

...completely shocked.

"Did you have to say it!" she snapped.

Not wanting to humiliate her further, I didn't answer.

After a long (and I'm sure highly-embarrassed) silence, she finally continued, "Yeah, I uh...did. So, I took the world's fastest shower and ran into my room for clean clothes...and then ran back into the living room to call you; but when I got there, my backpack was still lying on the coffee table...but it was wide open...and Mom was gone...and so was my phone."

Not comprehending, I asked, "You mean she...why would she take your phone?"

Sam sighed audibly, and then explained, "Two nights ago, at the _Rock Bottom Bar_, on Bayview Street, she was in the bathroom throwing up; and while she was leaning over, her own phone fell out of her jacket pocket and into the toilet...and needless to say, between the water _and_ her hundred-proof vomit, it was ruined. But still, she _never_ asked to borrow mine."

"Well then, as soon as you saw she was gone, why didn't you try to find her..._and your phone_?" I demanded.

"I wanted to...but there are over a thousand bars in Seattle, and she's been thrown out of so many of them, that I had no idea where to even begin looking. Anyway, I've been sitting up, awake, for the past seventeen hours, waiting for her. She just walked in the front door ten minutes ago, and I immediately took my phone away from her...forcibly," she concluded...

...but her explanation did absolutely nothing to lessen either my overwhelming pain...

...or my anger.

"_I left you message after message!"_ I yelled.

"Carls...I'm really sorry that this happened...I swear I am...but, just because I wasn't able to call you last night...didn't you think that maybe something had happened? And that I couldn't call you because of some emergenc-"

"Well, at first," I admitted, "...but-"

"But what?" she urged. "Why would you _**ever**_ think, just because I wasn't able to call you, that I want to break up with-"

"Sam," I half blurted, half sobbed, "_...she blocked m-me from c-calling y-your phone!"_

There was a short stretch of profound, stunned silence, but then Sam bellowed...

...at the top of her lungs, _**"She **__**WHAT**__**!" **_

The next sound I heard was her phone hitting a hard surface, followed by the sound of her feet thundering down the hall...

...and into her living room.

"_**Hey!"**_ she yelled at her mother...

...loudly and furiously, "What the _**hell**_ did you do with my phone last night?"

Mrs. Puckett's speech was noticeably slurred as she replied, "Jeez...how many times do I have to tell you? I only borrowed it!"

At this, Sam shouted, just as loudly, "You had no right to bl-"

"Listen," Mrs. P. cut her off, "...remember that guy Craig I told you about? The one with the huge...well, anyway, I needed to be near a phone so he could contact me. We were supposed to hook up, right after the rehearsal."

"Still, you had no right to blo-" Sam fell silent for a moment, then asked, perplexed, "What do you mean 'the rehearsal'? _What_ rehearsal?"

"His rehearsal dinner," he mother replied. "I told him to blow it off, but his fiance' was insisting, so..."

"Still," Sam interrupted angrily, "you had no right to bloc-wait a minute!" Again, she stopped speaking, but, after a few moments of confused silence, continued, "Wait...you're telling me that you were trying to hook up with someone..._who's going to be married in a couple of days?_ What the hell were you thinking?"

Mrs. Puckett, not needing ponder her answer, immediately replied, "The same thing I'm thinking right now; that, technically, he's still single...and will be until ten o'clock tomorrow morning, so I'm going to need your phone again to-"

"_**You had no right to block Carly's number!"**_ Sam finally managed to get out...

...as loudly as she could.

"Oh, is that who was calling...over and over?" Mrs. P. replied, sounding mildly annoyed.

"You didn't even bother to _check_?" Sam yelled.

"No," Mrs. P. replied dismissively, "why would I do that?"

Now sounding way past enraged, Sam bellowed, "Did it ever occur to you that _maybe_ it kept ringing because there _might_ be an emergency? I can't believe this! _What were you thinking?"_

Without missing a beat, Mrs. P. replied, "I was thinking, how is Craig ever gonna get in touch with me, when the line is constantly being tied up, by some pest who keeps calling every five min-"

I didn't catch the rest of her sentence...

...because it was drowned out by the sound of Sam swearing...

...screaming a string of obscenities so long, and so foul, that I can't possibly print them here. This was followed directly by the sound of something large and made of glass shattering against a wall...

...which was immediately followed by Mrs. Puckett yelling, "Hey! You're gonna pay for that!"

"For that piece of crap?" Sam yelled back. "No problem...I have twenty-five cents right here!"

"A quarter?" Mrs. P. sneered. "Is that all your johns are paying you these days?"

"Well, at least mine are paying me," Sam shouted, "...which is more than I can say for _your_s! Which reminds me, Mom, it's a real shame that, when you're out working your street corner, you don't _**charge **__**by **__**the **__**pound**_**,** because we'd make a fortune!"

I'm not sure what either of them said next...

...because they both began screaming rapidly...

...at the top of their lungs...

...and, rolling my eyes, I glanced over at my alarm clock.

Exactly seven minutes later, there was a sudden, momentary, mutual silence; and then I heard a door slam, and Sam yelling, "And who's gonna pay for all that damage to the front door...from where it just hit your massive ass?"

Apparently, Mrs. Puckett couldn't or wouldn't reply...

...because there was another short stretch of silence, and then I heard Sam's footsteps rapidly approaching, and her picking the phone up again.

"Carls, I'm _**so**_ sorry...about all of this-" she began...

...but I was _far_ from ready to forgive her.

"Sam...when you realized your phone was gone, why didn't you call me anyway..." I demanded, "from _another_ phone?"

"Because all of the pay phones in my neighborhood have been broken into, so many times, that the phone company gave up on repairing them years ago," she reminded me...

...and then, after pausing for a long moment, she continued, much more haltingly, "And now...not one single tenant in my apartment complex will talk to me anymore...let alone let me in...not since the...you know..._The_ _Christmas Incident_."

I knew exactly what she was referring to.

Without missing a beat, I said, "Well, I can't say that I blame them for not trusting your family now; I mean, I wouldn't either...not after what your mom did last December. Not after the way she swindled the entire building...wearing that Santa hat and going from door to door, collecting for that bogus charity."

"Hey!" Sam yelled, sounding highly indignant, "That charity _wasn't _bogus...it was legit!"

"Sam!" I exclaimed, "She told everyone she was collecting for the A.S.P.C.A.!"

"But, Carls, she _was_ collecting for the A.S.P.C.A...**A**ssorted **S**tuff **P**ucketts **C**an't **A**fford!"

Before I could process this revelation, let alone come up with any kind of response...

...she added, "And besides, that judge was a completely unreasonable jerk-wad...how did he expect her to pay back all fifty-seven of those donors,..._from_ _behind_ _bars_?"

I had no answer.

"Look," she continued, "I _never_ had _any_ intention of breaking up with you...and I'm really, _really_ sorry that-"

"No, Sam," I interrupted...

...now highly ashamed at having been so presumptuous...

...and so vicious to her, continuing much more slowly, "...I'm the one who's sorry. Please, _please_ don't hate me for-"

"Shh," she replied. "Listen, I'm going to hang up now-"

"No! Please don't!" I begged. "I don't want you to-"

"Just let me finish," she answered. "Right now, we're both yelling at each other and being completely irrational, and you know that nothing good could possibly come of it."

"I...know," I admitted, without even having to think the matter over.

"So," she continued, "I'm going to hang up now. As soon as I do, I'm going to unblock your number...and then we're going sit quietly for ten minutes and pull ourselves together...both of us...and then I'm going to call you, and you and I are going to start this whole conversation over again...the right way...agreed?"

"A...greed," I conceded.

"I'll call you back in ten minutes," she repeated.

And then, without another word, she hung up...

...and, suddenly realizing that I couldn't sit quietly for ten minutes...

...because of how badly I needed to pee, I got out of bed quickly...

...immediately wishing that I hadn't...

...because my entire body felt like it had just been slammed into by a bullet train.

Still, I managed to stagger to the door, and then down the hall...

...and less than a minute later, I was in the bathroom...

...hating the way the now-sticky crotch of my still-soaked panties clung to me as I pulled them down...

...and, less than a minute later, I was sitting on the toilet...

...crying out loudly...

...at the unbearable sting between my legs...

...as the stream of hot urine came into contact with my badly-abused vagina...

...burning me so badly that it felt exactly like I was peeing battery acid.

The instant I had finished I was bending forward, breathing heavily from the pain; with my eyes closed, my elbows on my knees, and my head bowed...

...now clearly smelling the strong, stale, pervasive odor of my unfinished arousal...

...momentarily grateful that the fire in my vulva had subsided slightly, but now acutely aware of another, equally agonizing, pain in my pelvic region...

...caused by every achingly-tight and stiff muscle in the area...

...a horrible reminder of my failed attempt to orgasm.

Opening my eyes, I looked down. My underpants were a mess...

...liberally smeared, front to back, with the thick, whitish smegma my body had produced last night...

...and stained with a few faint streaks of blood, from where I'd injured myself badly...

...but I also realized that there was no time to change them...

...because my phone was ringing...

...and so, cringing, I pulled them back up..

...doing my best, as I did, to ignore the highly-unpleasant, pasty wetness between my legs...

...and the still-intense, searing pain from having urinated...

..._and_ the hard, persistent ache of last night's interrupted arousal...

...as I limped, as quickly as I could, back up the hall….

...and seconds later, wincing, sat down on the edge of my bed.

Turning my phone on...

...I instantly heard, "I love you, Carly Shay."

"I...love you too," I answered immediately...

...and with a noticeable catch in my voice. "And...I'm so sorry...about everything that happened yesterday.

"I'm...not sure what happened," she said slowly.

"It was all my fault!" I blurted out. "Grandad insisted on giving me a ride, and I asked him to drop me off right in front of the florist shop! It never occurred to me that he would watch me walk in, and then would then put two and two together and figure out that I...and I'm so sor-"

"Shh, Carls," she cut me off, "it's okay."

No!" I yelled. "It's **not** okay! I know that I ruined everyth-oh, why did this happen, Sam? _**WHY**_? We were being so unselfish! Both of us! So, why didn't w-we get our w-w-w-"

I couldn't continue...

...but less than a minute later, Sam interrupted my sobs, by saying, very slowly, "Carls, you're wrong about that. You did get your wish...and so did I."

"Wh-what?" I asked, incredulous. "H-how can you possibly say that?"

She answered my question with a question.

"What were your exact words when you made your wish?"

Not believing that she'd even asked, I replied, "How can you have forgotten, when you wished for exactly the same thing? I said I wish I coul-"

And then, my voice halted instantly...

...as the revelation hit me...

...like a sudden plunge into an icy ocean...

...and I gasped, "Oh, my God, Sam...oh, _NO_! I said 'I wish I could _**SEE**_ you!'"

"And you _did_, Carls," Sam answered, "you did see me. And I saw you too...so it turns out that we got exactly what we wished for...both of us."

Now furious at myself for my incredible stupidity, _and what it had cost me_, I lamented, "But...oh, my God! Why wasn't I more specific! Why didn't I wish that we could spend the whole day together...alone...and that we'd-"

"Look," she interrupted, "it's going to be okay, so just calm down. It's not the end of the world. We'll try again next week...next Saturday."

"No!"I exclaimed. "W-we can't!"

"Don't worry about us getting caught, he'll never think to look for you at the cemetery again," she announced optimistically...

...but still, it was no solution.

"It's not going to work!" I wailed. "I can't try again...and I won't be able to..._ever again!_ And that's because Grandad's going to be taking me to the club with him, every Saturday, from now on!"

"What?" she spluttered. "How did _that _happen?"

"Last night, at the dinner table, I was too upset to eat anything, so I just sat there; and after watching me for about ten minutes, he said that I've been moping around too much lately, and so we need to spend more time together...and that now, he's going to teach me to play golf!"

"No!" she yelled, obviously horrified.

"Yes!" I yelled back. "And now, after seeing how upset I was yesterday morning, he's been acting nicer to me, which means he's feeling guilty for ignoring me too much, which means that now, he's probably never going to let me out of his sight!"

There was a long stretch of silence, but finally Sam said, in her most encouraging voice, "Come on, there has to be some way for us to see...I mean, for us to spend time together."

"H-how?" I demanded tearfully.

After thinking the matter over...

...for nearly a minute, she replied, "Uh, I'm going to need some time to figure that out...so, when's the last time you ate anything?"

I didn't answer

"That long, huh?" she stated, comprehending the situation fully, and then asked me, "Okay, what's junkiest thing in the house right now?"

"Butter cookies."

Obviously approving, she said, "Excellent, so. go have a huge, non-nutritious breakfast, and then soak in a hot bathtub and try to relax, while I figure all of this out. I'll call you back within a couple of hours."

"But Sam, what about _your_ breakfast?" I reminded her.

"Don't...worry about that; I...I have...more important things to think about," she answered slowly...

...and suddenly, I felt far worse than I already did...

...because I could tell, from both what she said and the way she said it, that she'd already finished off all of the food she'd found at my apartment...

...and it hurt me badly to realize that she was now going to be forced to skip yet another meal.

Fortunately, however, at that moment inspiration struck, and I asked, "Can you think while you're walking?"

"Of course."

"Good. I want you to empty out your backpack again."

"Why, Carls?"

"Just do it...and then head straight over to my apartment; and, when you get there, I want you to go into Spencer's bedroom. In the right-hand corner of the room, next to his dresser, there's a huge, antique, glass apothecary jar sitting on the floor. Every night, when he's emptying his pockets, he puts all of his quarters in there, so we'll always have change for the washers and dryers when we do laundry in the basement. Anyway, there's always a lot of extra quarters in it; and the other day I noticed that it looks like it's up to almost eighty dollars now...and I want you to take it...all of it."

"No!" she protested, without even stopping to consider, "I couldn't _possibly_ take Spencer's mon-"

"Don't worry about that," I cut her off, "I promise you that I'm going to pay him back. Anyway, like I said, it's probably around eighty dollars; and if you shop carefully, that should buy you enough food to last for several days, until I can send you another money order. I can't today, because it's Sunday and my bank is closed, but first thing tomorrow, I prom-"

"No!" she cut me off. "I don't deserve that, either! Not after what I did yesterday, with the money you already gave-"

"Yes, Sam," I insisted...

...but still ended up spending the next four of five minutes arguing with her...

...until finally, either reassured or desperately hungry, she caved in. After promising me that she was going to head straight over there and take the money...

...and that she was going to call me back within a couple of hours...

...and that she loves me...

...I reminded her that I love her, too...

...every bit as much...if not more...

...and then we hung up; and I, as instructed, headed immediately to the kitchen...

...where I found an unexpected note from Grandad hanging on the refrigerator door...

...held in place with a magnet shaped like a carrot.

_Having lunch and dinner with Mrs. Lippincott. Be back home some time this evening._

This was fantastic news; and, relieved to be free of him for most of the day...

...not to mention incredibly relieved that Sam wasn't breaking up with me, my headache began to subside enough to allow me to turn my attention to other things...

...such as the realization that my appetite had finally returned...

...and so, I spent the next twenty minutes putting a serious dent in my bag of cookies, which I washed down with two large glasses of milk.

Once I had taken as much breakfast on board as I possibly could, I headed down the hall and into the bathroom...

...realizing, as I did, that the very next order of business was to attend to the considerable, still-acutely-painful damage I'd inflicted between my legs the night before. After filling the tub with the hottest water I could stand, I stripped off, and then got in. With a sigh, I lay back and closed my eyes...

...but less than five minutes later, before I'd had a chance to wash anything, my phone rang...

...and jumping out of the tub immediately...

...I found myself wet, dripping, and naked, sprinting back up the hall and into my room.

Ignoring the rivulets of water that were coursing down my body...

...and collecting in a pool around my feet, momentarily, before sinking into the bedroom rug...

...I snatched my phone off the nightstand and saw that the caller was Sam...

...who, apparently, had come to some kind of solution to my problem...

...more than an hour early.

Without hesitation, I turned my phone on and held it to my ear.

"Carls," she began, sounding genuinely regretful, "the way I see it, you have only one option here."

"No!" I shouted immediately. "Don't say that the only way out is that I have to wait until Spencer gets back! I can't wait until September, Sam! I'll lose my mind!"

"Calm down," she answered. "that's not what I was going to say."

"Oh," I replied...

...in a very small voice.

Sam took a deep breath and then continued, "What I was going to say is...the solution to this is...you have to get your Grandad to forgive you, and to trust you again."

"That's impossible!" I exclaimed, not even bothering to stop and consider the feasibility of her proposal. "And besides," I continued, "even if I could, what would that solve?"

"You might be able to get him to bring you to Seattle early," she answered optimistically.

"He'd _never-_" I began...

...but she interrupted me, saying, "Didn't you tell me that he has friends here?" And that they've been pestering him to visit them?"

"Well" I answered slowly, "his old partner from the accounting firm, who retired four years ago, does occasionally ask him to come and visit."

"Perfect!" she interjected. "Look, if you can just convince him to visit that guy, he'll bring you with him, and then you and I could be together...even if it's only for a few days."

"That'll never happen, Sam," I argued. "Even if I could somehow pull something like that off, which I'm positive I can't, you know that he..." I paused for a moment...

...before continuing, "...he...doesn't want me to be around you anymore."

"He's never going to find out about it," she announced promptly.

"How are we going to manage that?" I scoffed.

"Well, you mentioned once that your Grandad has met Wendy...and that he likes her, didn't you?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "He did...and he does."

"Well then," she continued, "while you're here, just tell him, every day, that you're going over to her house, and I'll meet you there...and then we'll be able to hang out together."

Before I could object, pointing out that Grandad isn't that stupid, and definitely would catch on, she added, "Also, before he brings you here, as extra insurance, you and I are going to have a huge fight over the phone. When we do, we'll make sure that it's loud...and that he's in next room."

"Really?" I asked. "You and I are going to stage a fight?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "Scream at me that you hate my guts...and that you never want to talk to me again...and that I can drop dead. Hearing all of that is guaranteed to warm your granddad's heart...and to convince him that you want nothing more to do with m-"

"Sam," I interrupted, "as much fun as planning all of this is, I know that I'll never be able to pull it off. He's never going to forgive me for what hap-"

"Of course he will," she argued. "Look, didn't you say earlier that, after seeing how upset you were yesterday, he's been acting kinder to you...and more concerned?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"Well, then," she reasoned, "maybe it's because he's starting to realize that no one is perfect...and that you didn't really mean the things you said to him when you two fought...and that you're still his granddaughter."

"I...don't know," I answered, still far from convinced.

"What you need to do is to leverage those feelings of his...and that will cause him to forgive you."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

Sam thought the matter over for a moment.

"Well, you could start by being more proactive around the house. Start doing all of the cooking...and all of the cleaning; and, most importantly, try to fake an interest in his hobbies."

_"WHAT?"_

"Oh yeah," she added, "also, flatter him from time to time, but when you do make sure you're being honest and sincere...and believable."

"It's not going to work," I repeated dismissively.

"Got a better idea?" she challenged.

I didn't have to think it over.

"No."

"Okay, then, I'm going to let you go now; because I want you to go get back into the tub and try to relax," she announced, then added, "as soon as he he gets home, I want you to 'test the waters' by making a kind and sincere remark. If you look at him with sad eyes while you do, I'll bet you that he takes the bait."

Despite my reluctance, I agreed to try; and, after telling her that I'd report back soon, I hung up...

...still convinced that it was a lost cause, but willing to give it my best shot...

...but only because I'd promised her.

First things first, though. I needed to attempt (again) to reverse the punishment my poor body had endured the previous night...

...but, instead of lying around in the tub, I took a long shower instead; grateful as the hot water, pounding relentlessly on my neck and shoulders, helped to alleviate the last vestiges of my lingering headache.

My damaged vagina, however, was another story.

Even though I was being incredibly careful, I still bit my lip hard, with tears stinging my eyes, as I washed myself there...

...and, realizing that I needed to do something to quell the inflammation...

_...immediately..._

...before I was forced to endure the utter hell of peeing again...I dried off and then walked, naked, into the kitchen...

...and over to the window above the sink.

Ever since I can remember, Grandad has kept a large aloe vera plant there, on the windowsill...

...as a handy remedy for the occasional cuts and burns that go along with cooking.

After finding scissors in the kitchen drawer, I snipped a long, wide leaf from the back of the plant, where it would be less noticeable; and, after splitting it in half lengthwise, I got a teaspoon from the kitchen drawer and then headed down the hall and into my bedroom.

Still completely undressed, I sat down on my bed. Using the spoon, I scraped the raw aloe vera gel out of both sides of the leaf; and then, scooping it off the spoon and onto the fingers of my right hand, I lay down on my back...

...and, after bending my knees and spreading my legs, I reached down between them with both hands...

...and, wincing loudly, I used the fingers of my left one to spread my outer lips open...

...feeling the fire inside them intensify, burning white-hot, as my vagina came into contact with the air...

...and then, reaching over with the aloe gel-smeared fingers of my right hand...

...and while holding my breath, I used them to spread it carefully, yet thoroughly, over my raw, stinging clitoris.

The relief was instantaneous.

With a grateful sigh, I fell back against my pillow...

...and began attending to the rest of my lacerated vagina...

...and, as I continued rubbing the aloe vera in, ever so gently, along the entire length of my vulva's interior, the pain finally stopped...

...but less than a minute later, as I lay there with my fingers still moving, I felt another sensation...

...a very different one...

...a small, but unmistakeable tremor in the area...

...which was followed by a minor contraction slightly higher up in my lower pelvic region.

This was soon followed by another, stronger one..

...one which radiated from just below my navel, and coursed all the way down through both of my thighs...

...causing them to tremble...

...and, realizing what was happening, I immediately closed my eyes, picturing Sam sitting next to me...

...with _her_ hands between my legs...

...as, very slowly...

...and very, very gently...

...I began to finger myself.

It felt so good.

Sam loves me.

She's still my girlfriend...

...and I know that she wants me to feel better...

...and I know what that means. I know now that I need to do what she asked of me months before.

Even though I want to wait for her, I know that she was right.

I need to have an orgasm.

I know that she wanted me to, and that, if she knew what was happening...and how guilty I feel that she isn't here with me...

...she'd still insist. She'd assure me that she desperately wants me to feel better...

...and that this doesn't really 'count' as my first time...

...and that, when we're together again, _that_ will be my first time...

...and it will be with her.

And so, as reassured as if Sam had just said all of this to me herself...

...which I know for a fact that she would have, if I'd called her at that moment...

...I focused on my breathing, and on trying to relax...

...relieved, a minute or so later, to feel my body sinking more deeply into my mattress...

...and, encouraged, I began to move my gel-covered fingers, slowly and rhythmically, up and down the inside of my outer lips...

...being especially carefully around my still-sensitive clitoris...

...and, within minutes, my hips were beginning to shift on the mattress, as I felt my already stiff pelvic muscles beginning to tense up even more...

...due to the slowly-increasing intensity of my arousal. A few short minutes later, I noticed something else: My already-slick fingers were now beginning to slide even more easily along my vulva...

...and I knew why.

I was becoming wet...

...as my vagina's viscous secretions, mixing with the more sticky aloe vera gel that still covered my fingers, now caused them to glide effortlessly up and down the entire length of my vagina...

...and I loved the way it felt.

It was an indescribably delicious sensation...

...and one that caused the deepening waves of arousal already coursing, more and more rapidly, throughout my entire body, to intensify.

As my breathing turned noticeably shorter and more sporadic, I began to move my now-dripping fingertips in random swirls, around and across my clitoris...

...gasping loudly at how fantastic it felt...but then, only seconds later, I stilled them for a moment...

...just long enough to kick the covers, which were currently tangled around my lower legs, down to the end of the bed...

...so I could dig my heels firmly into the mattress...

...knowing that was about to happen to my body was going to be so incredibly violent that I was going to need to brace myself...

...as hard as I could.

Bending my knees completely and placing my feet flat against the mattress, I resumed gliding my fingertips over and around my clitoris, causing my entire body to begin trembling, non-stop, as my arousal escalated...

...and, now breathing heavily...I looked down at my hips...

...watching the way they were rising up sharply off the mattress every now and then, with every contraction that I felt in my pelvic region...

...as every muscle in my already-stiff and tight body continued tensing up...

...to the point of being so unbearably painful that I was ready to cry...

...but instead, I forced myself to endure it...

…knowing that utter release...and relief...were close...

...and, in preparation, I let my shoulders fall back against the bed again...

...realizing, as my head sank deeply into my pillow, that...finally...I was only a few minutes away from a desperately-needed, utterly-healing, earth-shattering org-

"Carly!" he called...

...suddenly and loudly. "Carly, where are you?"

Grandad's voice echoed down the hallway...

...and, hearing his footsteps following it...

...I realized that he was about to arrive at my room...less than five seconds later!

Yanking my hands from between my legs...

...I flew up off the bed...

...and over to my bedroom door...

_...which I hadn't bothered to close!_

After a split second of violent fumbling, I managed to snatch my bathrobe off the hook behind it and pull to it on...

...realizing as I did that I'd been so focused on what I'd been doing that I hadn't heard the car pulling up the driveway...

...or him coming into the house!

I had just finished hastily tying the belt when he appeared in my doorway.

"Is everything...okay?" he asked...

...and, completely incapable of speech, I merely nodded...

...but he just stood there, staring at me...

...and I absolutely could not read his expression...

...and that scared the crap out of me; because I know I looked guilty as hell.

And then, nervous at not knowing what he was thinking...

.._.and terrified at what he might be smelling..._

_..._I tried to bridge the awkward silence by asking, "Wh-what are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming home until this evening."

"While having lunch, I uh, spilled something on myself...so I had to come home and change," he answered, turning to face me fully...

...and revealing a huge red wine stain, on the lower-left side of his white dress shirt.

I stood staring at it, in disbelief, for almost half a minute...

...while wondering if he had, indeed, spilled it on himself...

...or if it had been_ thrown_ on him, by his nasty, drunken girlfriend.

The silence resumed, stretching on until I (nervously) added, "I didn't hear your car pull up."

"Mrs. Lippincott needed to borrow it," he answered, "so I got out at the far end of the driveway. She should be back from the pharmacy in just a few minutes."

"You let her borrow your car?" I asked...

...trying hard to keep the incredulous edge out of my voice...

...and to refrain from pointing out how rude it was of her to not even pull up the driveway before he got out...

...and also from pointing out the alcohol and automobiles definitely don't mix!

Instead of answering this question, however, he responded with one of his own.

"I was wondering if, since I'm going to be out all day, you're going to need any money for lunch or dinner?"

"No," I replied. "I was planning on making a London Broil sandwich for lunch, and sauteing some boneless chicken for dinner."

With an amiable nod, he turned away from the door and then headed to his room for a clean shirt...

...and suddenly, I decided that it was probably as good a time as any to give Sam's advice a try...

...after all, she did have a point...he had been acting nicer to me since yesterday...

...and he'd just shown concern that I had food for the rest of the day...so this might be a good opportunity to say-

Suddenly, my thoughts were cut short...

...by the sound of a car horn blaring...

...long and loudly.

Grandad's car horn!

And, like a trained dog, Grandad immediately emerged from his room, and ran up the hall...

...and, two seconds later, I was running after him.

The car horn blared again, just as loudly, as I got to the living room. Sprinting across it, I called, "Grandad!"

Fortunately, at that moment the horn stopped...

...as, right hand on the doorknob, he turned around and looked at me questioningly...

...and, feeling my cheeks reddening and my heart pounding, I took a deep breath said, "I just wanted to say that I realize that...you've always been very generous with me...and I just wanted to let you know...how much I appreciate it."

At this remark, Grandad was completely silent...

...but only for a few seconds, before replying angrily, "I'm sure that you do; as long as I keep an open wallet...and a closed mouth!"

And then, he was gone...

...and within seconds, I was frantically dialing Sam's number. After telling her what had happened...

...and that the whole 'forgiveness thing' was completely impossible...

...I waited in silence, eager for her to comfort me with sympathetic words...

...but, instead, her infuriating response was, "Aw, he's just cranky from spending the whole day around Violently Lickin-"

"Okay! Okay!" I answered testily. "But he doesn't have to take his hostility out on me!"

"Give it time, Cupcake." she replied. "Just give it time."

A few minutes later, we hung up; but even though my body was still aching unbearably...

...and utterly screaming for release...

...I didn't bother trying to whack off again.

I just wasn't in the mood anymore.

But anyway, beginning the very next morning, I ended up doing what Sam had asked of me...

...spending the next seven days cooking and cleaning, almost non-stop, for Grandad...

...and pretending to be interested while watching his crappy TV shows...

...and, most horrible of all, spending three afternoons with him that week at the park four blocks from his house...

...sitting next to him for hours on end, bored out of my mind, while watching him play chess...

….and while surreptitiously scanning all nearby trees, desperately hoping to see something more entertaining...

...such as squirrels mating...

...while wondering how I was _ever_ going to get out of playing golf with him on Saturday...

...because that's where I draw the line!

Fortunately, inspiration arrived Friday afternoon...

...in the form of my period...

...so the following morning, even though I wasn't in any real pain, I told him (while curled up on my bed in the fetal position) that I had "_Women's Troubles_"...

...which is Grandad's euphemism for 'heavy flow and severe cramps'...

...and, to my surprise, he bought my excuse completely...

...and without, thank God, asking for details.

After he'd left, I had breakfast, and then went straight back to bed...

...because even though (aside from some unpleasant twingy-ness) I had no cramps...

...I _did_ have a very heavy flow; and, between that and my painfully-unfinished attempt to orgasm, my entire pelvic area was so congested...

...and so bloated...

...and I was feeling so utterly exhausted...from all things menstrual and mental...

...that I just wanted to sleep the rest of the day away...

...and so I tried to, reasoning that there was no real point in getting up...

...especially since my lower stomach was so incredibly swollen that I'd never be able to zip my jeans up anyway.

And so, I spent the next several hours lying in bed...

...letting my mind wander aimlessly...

...passively thinking about everything and nothing...

...while doing my best to ignore the persistent, unfulfilled ache between my legs...

...rubbing my lower stomach from time to time, while wishing with all my heart that I had something warm (like Sam's body) to curl up around.

My listless daydreams were eventually cut short, early that afternoon...

...when Grandad returned home. After he got out of the car, I heard him coming into the house...

...and then up the hall...

...and, since I was lying on my right side, I soon saw him appear in my open doorway.

A second or two later, he walked through it...

...without an invitation...

...and with an oversized shopping bag in his hand...

...and, as he did, I saw that it was from the VCS Pharmacy.

After crossing the room to where I lay, he leaned forward, and reached down...

...and carefully pulled my covers off me...

...and then, without a word, he sat down next to me, on the edge of my bed...

...and, as I watched, he opened the bag he was holding,...

...and pulled out a new, large heating pad, with a light blue cover.

Leaning forward and reaching behind my nightstand, he plugged it in, and turned it on to 'High'...

...and then, he turned around to face me...

...and still not speaking, but with an expression of grave concern, he lay his right hand against the front of my left shoulder...

...and I willingly let him turn me over onto my back.

Setting the heating pad aside, he reached over with both hands, and pushed the bottom edge of my pajama jacket up a few inches, to the bottom of my ribcage...

...and then, after a very gentlemanly, moment's hesitation, he untied my drawstring...

...and I, suddenly and badly wanting to be cared for, lifted my hips for him...

...and he pulled my pajama pants down a few inches, to the top of my panties.

After a short, but unmistakeably sympathetic glance at how swollen I was, he placed the already-warm heating pad against my bare lower abdomen...

...as carefully and gently as if he had been my mother...

...and then, just as unexpectedly, he placed his right hand on top of it, letting it rest there for a long moment...

...before getting to his feet, pulling my covers back up, and walking out of the bedroom...

...all without saying a word.

Twenty minutes later...

...after the shock had worn off...

…I reflected, elated, on how I'd managed to get out of going to the club with him for the day...

...and then, between that and the sympathetic way he'd just taken care of me and my 'cramps', I suddenly (and surprisingly) felt optimistic. Maybe Sam was right...

...maybe there was hope for reconciliation...

...and for getting out of here before the end of the summer!

Since it was July, Grandad kept the central air conditioner on a pretty cold setting...

...so the heating pad's gradually-increasing warmth felt welcome and wonderful against my bare skin...

...and so, still lying on my back, I slipped its bottom edge inside the front of my panties, pushing it as far down as I could, to help hold it in place; and then for extra insurance, I closed the front of my pajama pants again, and re-tied their drawstring...

...and then, with a sigh of contentment, I turned back over onto my right side...

...loving the feeling of soft flannel pressed against my bare skin...

...and the way its penetrating warmth was slowly beginning to alleviate the dull ache of my swollen lower stomach...

...as, closing my eyes, I drifted off to sleep...

...thinking of Sam.

However, as it turned out, my celebratory mood was short lived. By Monday afternoon, the dark cloud that hung, persistently, over my head returned...because he was in another one of his foul moods...

...one which surfaced the instant we returned home from another agonizing afternoon of 'Chess in the Park'...

...to find his lawn and hedges even more badly butchered than usual. And his mower, as always, hadn't been put away.

"Bloody hell!" Grandad yelled, as he surveyed the damage. "That's it! I'm calling Roger right now, and having a talk with him about his son!"

"What are you going to say?" I asked, off-handedly and only slightly interested

"What I should have said over a year ago!" he snarled. "That I'm happy to pay, but he needs to teach Jason how to do yard work! Now, go get started on dinner...right away!" he added, in a particularly nasty tone...

...and then, instead of following me into the house, he headed around the back and out to the garden...

...and I rushed into my bedroom and called Sam.

She was silent as I explained his latest tirade in detail, but then, instead of sympathetic words of condolence, she replied, "Yes! He's mad at someone other than you, Carls...that's great!"

"But he's taking it out on me!" I protested. _"AGAIN!"_

"Look," she answered, "just give him a couple of days to calm down, and then try saying something nice-"

"I have been trying!" I informed her. "But it's not working!"

Sam was silent for a moment.

"Carls, I'm really sorry, but I've tried really hard to come up with some other way of getting him to cut you some slack...but I can't think of anything else at all."

"Neither can I!" I shouted. So it's pointless to even try!"

"Well, try again in a day or two anyway," she said encouragingly...

...but I had had enough.

"Don't you understand, Sam? No matter what I say or do, he's always in a foul mood! And that's never going to change!"

However, after much prodding on Sam's part, I promised to keep trying...

...and so I did...

...day after day...

...for an entire week...

...but still...nothing...

...nothing but silence or sarcasm.

However, by Saturday morning, things were looking much sunnier...

...because when I woke up, it was raining badly...

...which meant that Grandad couldn't drag me out to the golf course with him...again! Since playing in bad weather was out of the question, he and Rick decided instead to have an early lunch together at _Fairmount_, the club's private, members-only restaurant...

...which meant that I was off the hook...at least for one more week.

Relieved, I spent most of the morning and early afternoon doing laundry, and reading an old cookbook which I'd found in one of the kitchen cabinets. All things considered, it wasn't such a bad day...

...until that evening when, right after dinner, Grandad called me into the living room.

"Come on, it's TV time. The show starts in less than ten minutes."

"What's on?" I asked dis-interestedly...

...dreading the answer...

...and sure enough, he delivered.

"_Republicanism in the French Revolution_," he announced...

...sounding as excited as if he'd just found a nearly-naked _Victorian Secrets_ model sitting on his couch.

Suppressing a sigh, I walked over to the couch and sat down beside him...

...mentally bracing myself, as I did, for two hours of non-stop, mind-numbing, soul-crushing boredom...

...but, just as Grandad reached for the remote, the doorbell rang.

Grumbling to himself, he got up and went to answer it...

...and, as he opened the door, I heard Mrs. Payne exclaim, "Oh Thank God, Everett! Thank God you're home!"

Exasperated, I rolled my eyes...

...wondering what trivial household problem she was over-dramatizing this time.

"Hello, Esther," Grandad replied, "you know, you could have just called and I'd have come right ov...Esther!" he exclaimed, suddenly sounding very concerned, What's wrong?"

Curiosity got the better of me; and, swiveling around, I looked over toward the door...

...to see Mrs. Payne, her face drained of all color, grab onto Grandad's arm and ask, "D-did you hear about Scott...Rick's son?"

"No," Grandad replied. "What about him?"

Her voice shaking badly, Mrs. Payne explained, "You know that, for the past year and a half, he's been doing inner city work, in the Hell's Kitchen neighborhood, in lower Manhattan?"

Grandad nodded.

"Well," she continued, "less than four hours ago, just after he'd left the Youth Center for the day and was taking a deposit of donations to the bank, he was attacked...at gun point! It happened across the street from a hair salon, and one of the employees there was looking out the window and saw it, and she said that there were four of them, and they-" she stopped speaking for a moment, and then, continued, half-sobbing, "and th-they shot him...five times!" Unable to continue, she paused for nearly a minute, and then added, "H-he was declared dead on arrival!"

"What!" Grandad gasped. "I...I was just having lunch with Rick this afternoon!"

"Oh, Everett...he was only twenty-one!"

Grandad stepped aside from the front door, saying, "Come in and I'll...make you some tea...and then I'm going to try to cal-"

"No...I can't. Rick and Emily have already left for the airport...and I have to go straight to his grandmothers house. She's staying home to watch their two girls."

"W-well, call me if you hear anything," he requested...

...and after assuring him that she would, Mrs. Payne walked back down our front steps.

Seconds later, Grandad closed the door, and crossed the room again, to where I was sitting...

...and I looked up at him...

...but, before I could say anything at all, he walked past the couch...and down the hall to his bedroom...

...shutting the door behind him.

The next morning being Sunday and sunny, we walked to church...

...in silence...

...with Grandad staring at his feet in silence the entire way.

Arriving about ten minutes early, we joined the other people who were milling around the crowded vestibule. As expected, none of Scott's family were there...

...but, within a minute or two, we were approached by Mrs. King, the organist.

She clearly was shaken.

"I can't believe this happened," she told my grandad. "Scott was such a sweet boy! His poor family! Oh, Everett, children are so precious!"

Grandad, after a second's hesitation, looked over at me and then replied, "Yes, Gladys, children _are_ precious. If anything _ever_ happened to-"

He didn't finish...

...but he didn't have to.

I'd heard the emotion in his voice...

...and the expression on his face during that fleeting glance in my direction spoke volumes...

...and, without another word, he reached over...

...and took me carefully by the hand...

...and, turning away from Mrs. King, he led me to our pew...

...where he sat, holding my hand between both of his own...

...staring down at it in silence...

...while lost deep in thought...

...finally releasing it when Reverend Wesley approached the podium and announced, "Good Morning to all of you, although, as I'm sure you know, it's also a very sad one. So, let's begin by observing a moment of silence for Scott, remembering what a fine young man he was...and then, please say a silent prayer, asking the Lord to bless and watch over his family during this difficult time."

I didn't know Scott. He'd been living in New York for a long time before I came to stay in Yakima; and even though Grandad knows his parents well, they never come over to the house, which means that I only saw and spoke to them at church once per week...

...but still, out of respect, I bowed my head and did as Reverend Wesley had asked; but even after I'd finished praying...

...the silence stretched on...

...endlessly...

...and as it did, I felt that something more was expected of me...

...something personal...

...and so, I closed my eyes again...

...and silently continued praying.

"You and I both know that I'm not perfect...but, You know that I try really, really to be...and even though he drives me crazy, I know that Grandad loves me..._I know he does! _And I...know I shouldn't have said the things I did...and I'm really really sorry about it. I know I hurt him...badly...and now I have no idea how to make things right. And he's so upset, and it's not just because of what happened to Scott...it's mostly _my_ fault! And I...I _wish so much_ that something would happen to make him happy, not so he'll stop being mean, but because everyone is entitled to some happiness in their liv-"

My request was cut short by Reverend Wesley saying, "And now, please turn to page 137 in your hymn books."

And I said a hasty 'thanks and amen'.

Right after the service ended, Grandad and I walked three blocks to Rick's house, to pay our condolences to his extended family. They fed us, and we ended up spending the rest of the afternoon there; until, at around four-thirty, he decided that we would head home.

Less than thirty minutes later, we were walking down our street...

...and then, just as we turned into the driveway...

...Grandad stopped dead in his tracks...

...and his jaw dropped...

...and, after following his line of vision, mine did too...

...as we both stared, speechless, at his front lawn...

...which, week after week, was a sloppy, unruly mess...

...but now, was perfectly manicured...

...and, even from where we were standing, it was easy to see that the hedges flanking his front door had also been immaculately trimmed.

And then, suddenly, he gasped...

...and I looked back over at him...

...to see that him looking down...

...so I did, too...

...noticing as I did how wet the asphalt was, even though there had been no rain...

...and suddenly, he was running up the driveway...

...and so was I...

….until, reaching its far end...

...we saw his car, obviously painstakingly clean and waxed, sparkling in the mid-July, late afternoon sunshine...

...and his lawn mower stored, for the first time ever, in the garage!

"Wow!" I exclaimed, turning to him. "Absolutely perfect...and a day early, too! I don't know what Jason's dad said to him...but he sure learns fast."

Grandad shook his head.

"There's no way that happened. No way. His father obviously did the landscaping himself...all of it." He walked slowly around his car several times, before adding, "And, after seeing how badly his son butchered my yard, he washed the car himself as well, to atone for the damage."

Despite our morose morning and afternoon, Grandad, now that his landscaping problem had been resolved (at least temporarily), spent the rest of the afternoon in an almost pleasant mood. Later that evening, right after he'd eaten my chicken stir-fry...

...without compliments, but also, thank God, without complaints...

...he called me over to the living room couch, stating, "We're in luck. There's a rerun of last night's show coming on. I'd be sorry if I'd missed it."

With a silent sigh, I approached the couch and sank down next to him...

...as my heart sank into shoes...

...because I still didn't give a rat's ass about _Republicanism in the French Revolution_...

...but before Grandad could turn the TV on, his phone rang.

Getting up, he walked over to the kitchen counter, where he'd left it, and I heard him say, "Esther? Uh, no, we've been home for a couple of hours...yes, of course I can spare a few minutes...what is it you wanted to tell me?" He was silent for nearly a minute and then, suddenly, he exclaimed, "_What?_ _You...__**you do?**_ I...I'll be right over!"

A second later, he emerged quickly from the kitchen.

"What's going on?" I asked, concerned...

...but instead of answering...

...and while looking highly agitated, Grandad hurried out the front door...

..and, not wanting to waste a perfectly good opportunity, I immediately pulled my phone out and called Sam...

...but she didn't pick up, so I just left the message, "Hi, Grandad just stepped out. I'm not sure how long he'll be gone, but probably only for a few minutes; and then I have to watch a crappy TV special with him...but I'll call you afterward, if I can."

As predicted, Grandad walked back in the front door about fifteen minutes later...

...with a stunned expression on face...

...and with a piece of paper in his right hand.

Not just any paper, though. It was lavender, and covered on both sides with writing, in green ink. I couldn't read it from where I sat...

...but even from way across the room, there was no mistaking Mrs. Payne's hideous stationery...

...or her poison-green pen!

"Wow, are you building her a whole new house?" I asked.

"What...do you...mean?" he asked haltingly.

"That's some 'To Do' list," I pointed out.

"It's...not," he answered.

"Oh," I replied, "then it's her grocery shopping list?"

He shook his head.

"Uh...is everything...okay?" I asked.

"Mrs. Payne...said to tell you hello," he replied distractedly, folding the paper into thirds and sliding it into the inside pocket of his jacket...

...and walking toward the couch.

I hadn't turned the TV on yet, and so, with a silent sigh, I picked up the remote from the coffee table and held it out to him...

...but, not seeming to see it, he continued walking...

...right past me...

...up the hall, and into his bedroom, closing the door behind him...

...while I sat in silence on the couch...

...completely bewildered.

What the hell was _that_ all about?

What could Mrs. Payne have possibly written that would leave Grandad so rattled?

But then, in one stroke of revelation, it dawned on me:

She had written him..._A Love Letter!_

Scott's death has Mrs. Payne thinking about how fragile life is...

...and how fleeting...

...and now, realizing how lonely she is, she's making a play for Grandad!

So _that's _what he had meant on the phone when he'd sounded so shocked and asked, "You do?"

She was telling him that she loves him!

I paused for a moment, confused.

But, Mrs. Payne has to know about Mrs. Lippincott...doesn't she?

And does Mrs. L. know about her?

And that she now has competition?

And will there be a huge cat fight?

And do they both hate each others' guts?

And was he 'getting any' I wondered...

...immediately dismissing that idea...

...knowing that, if he was, he'd be a lot less cranky and miserable!

For the record, I definitely wasn't the least bit thrilled with the prospect of Grandad ending up with _either_ of them...

...after all, this was truly a classic case of 'Choose Your Poison'...

...but still, what did he think of them? And would the heady knowledge that he had two girls chasing him now improve his mood at all?

And how was the entire scenario going to play out?

The whole thing was very mysterious...

...yet incredibly entertaining...

...and, absolutely _thrilled_ to have something other than my current, miserable existence to think about, I sprawled on the couch, and spent the rest of the evening pondering the entire situation...

...from every angle...

...while enjoying myself thoroughly...

...fully expecting Grandad to emerge from his room at any moment and ruin my fun.

But he didn't...

...and, as the hours flew by, I turned the entire, fascinating mystery over and over in my mind...

...so completely engrossed in it that I barely remember when I, exhausted yet somehow content, pulled the huge afghan throw from the back of couch...

...and over myself...

...and fell asleep almost instantly.


	17. Chapter 17

First thing the next morning I was on the phone with Sam...

...who listened in polite, attentive silence while I spent twenty minutes explaining what had transpired the previous evening...

...and then, wanting to get her objective opinion I asked, "So, what do you think?"

Without hesitation she replied, "I think that picturing him with either of those crazy old bats makes me wanna barf!"

"Sam! I'm being serious!"

"So am I," she assured me.

"No...other thoughts on the subject?" I asked hopefully.

She was silent for a moment, then mused, "Let me know if whatever happened...or happens...causes his mood to improve."

I promised her that I would.

During last night's extended fun-fest, I'd pretty much exhausted my detective abilities; and so I decided that the next step was to watch and wait...

...and, of course, continue to investigate.

The watching part was easy. It consisted mostly of tracking how often Grandad went next door to Mrs. Payne's...

...and how long he stayed there.

There didn't seem to be much of a change in this department...and if anything, his visits to her house during that week seemed to be somewhat shorter...

...in fact, shorter to the point of probably not being long enough him to _'get any'_ (although at his age, you never can tell...maybe fifteen minutes _**is**_long enough)! While we're on the subject, I also have to confess that I looked through the bathroom medicine cabinet...for Viagro _and_ Seealiss...but (for the record) I found nothing.

In addition, it must be duly noted that he had two dates that week with Mrs. Lippincott...

...returning from both in a sullen, defensive mood...

...which he promptly proceeded to unleash on me.

Despite this, _and _the apparent futility of even trying to get back on his elusive (and possibly non-existent)_ 'Good Side' _anymore, I still went _way _out of my way, all week long, trying to 'make amends'...

...spending countless hours slaving away in the kitchen for him; cooking elaborate, complicated dishes such as souffles...

...and, of course, keeping the house spotless...

...but still, even though I made numerous additional attempts at friendly conversation...

...all I got in return, more than 90% of the time, was a slew of hostile, rude, and undeserved replies.

On a happier note: Saturday came and went without me having to go to the club again! Rick's family was still in mourning; and so Grandad, once again, skipped his golf game...

...but, eager to avoid yet another confrontation, I did my best to conceal my delirious joy.

All too soon, Sunday morning arrived, overcast, so instead of walking we drove to church (just in case). After the service ended, we spent the following hour-and-a-half at his favorite cafe...

...enjoying(?) a nearly-silent brunch...

...and then, Grandad announced that we weren't going to head straight home...

...but over to Chesterton Park instead...

...and then, without further explanation, he drove us there.

After getting out of the car he grabbed a pen, clipboard, and camera from the trunk...

...and then he led me over in the direction of Sam's tree...

...which I found myself staring behind...both nervously and longingly...

...but instead of stopping beside it, he turned to his left and approached the park's fountain...

...which, for the record, is one of the most beautiful I've ever seen.

The central geyser is a larger-than-life weathered copper statue of Proserpina, who stands holding a large, double-ended cornucopia above her head...

...from which twin jets of water shoot up into the air at least thirty feet. She's surrounded by twelve elaborately-sculpted sea nymphs, all of whom are holding shells and various marine animals...with water spraying upwards and outwards from each...

...all of which cascades downward, _spectacularly_, into a huge circular, bronze pedestaled basin.

Grandad spent the next ten minutes or so walking around it, busily taking notes and pictures...

...while I stood, looking up, mirroring the sad expression on Proserpina's beautiful yet mournful face...

...understanding exactly how she must feel every winter when she's abducted by Hades...

...and then forced to live with him, for months on end, in the Underworld.

Grandad, oblivious to my thoughts, continued writing and snapping pics...

...until, curiosity finally getting the better of me, I asked, "What exactly are you doing?"

He stopped for a moment, and then looked back at me, stating, "Lately, I've noticed some hairline stress fractures at the base of several of the figures, which indicates the beginnings of structural damage; so, before it gets any worse, I'm preparing a presentation for the next City Council meeting, asking them to allocate funds for repairs."

"Oh."

About ten minutes later, he'd finally finished, and led me over to the far side of the path...

...where he seated himself on the nearest bench...

...pulling me down beside him...

...and we both spent the next hour or so sitting in silence...

...me looking, from time to time, at Grandad...

...who was looking, from time to time, at his watch. However, I also noticed that he _wasn't_ looking up or down the path...

...which meant that he probably wasn't waiting for anyone to show up...

...but, still, I asked anyway, "Is someone meeting us here?"

"No," he replied curtly...

...in tone that suggested he was_ not_ in the mood for conversation...

...and so, I didn't bother to try.

Around four-fifteen, he wordlessly got up from the bench...

...and I, just as silently, did the same; and then followed him over to the car...

...and (finally) we headed home...

...where I found, to my utter amazement...

...that, for the second week in a row...

...the front lawn was mown immaculately...

...and the hedges were trimmed flawlessly...

...and both, once again, had been completed a day early.

Grandad appeared only mildly surprised at this...

...but, since it had been done again on a Sunday instead of on Monday, I concluded that he had been right...

...and that Jason's dad must have been the one who did the work, since he was off on weekends.

Now that his lawn and hedges were (once again) looking so incredible, you'd think that Grandad would be happy.

No such luck, which I found out the hard way...

...less than twenty minutes later...

...when, looking across from my seat on the couch, over to where he sat in his armchair...

...and after struggling for nearly twenty minutes for something pleasant to say (no mean feat), I finally remarked, "You know, your hair looks really nice today."

Grandad whipped his head around to face me.

"What! Are you telling me that it usually _**doesn't**__**?**_" he snapped...

...rising from his seat, then walking straight to his room...

...and slamming the door behind him.

Despite the depressingly-obvious futility of even bothering to try at reconciliation anymore, I nonetheless redoubled my efforts...

...for the rest of the week...

...helping him in the back yard's garden nearly every day...

...and shining his shoes until they shone like glass...

...and vacuuming out his car...

...but, as the week progressed, his mood worsened...

...and so did his verbal attacks...

...until late Thursday evening, incredibly close to losing my mind, I made a frantic phone call to Sam.

"Hey, Cupcake, whatcha doing tonight?" she asked amiably, then added, "Your voice sounds all weird and hollow...where are you?"

"I'm in the garage...and I can't take this anymore!"

"Come on, Car-"

"No!" I wailed, "I _**can't**__**!**_ I'm spending every waking moment acting downright saintly, but he's still treating me like-"

"The garage?" she interrupted suddenly, "What are you doing out there?"

"I'm organizing all of his paint cans..._by color_..._**in alphabetical order**_!" I answered...

...entirely too loudly. "Don't you see?" I added, "That's how crazy this whole thing has made me! I'm telling you, Sam, I'm cracking up! I can't take this anymore! And I can't take _**him**_ anym-"

"Carly? What are you doing in there?" Grandad suddenly called, through the garage's side door...

...and, panicking, I shoved the phone inside the back of my shirt collar, under my hair. Less than ten seconds later, he appeared, repeating his question.

"I uh, was just looking for another bottle of Windecks...to...to clean the bathroom mirror!" I replied...

...blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

Grandad nodded.

"All right, but hurry it up," he advised. "The Historian Channel is showing _'The Soviet Union's Aggressions Against The World'_...and it starts in less than ten minutes."

Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out...

...and as he did, I heard Sam, who had wisely remained silent the whole time, suddenly say, from under my shirt collar, "Hang in there, Kid."

What other choice did I have?

**July 29th**

A pervasive, early-morning chill surrounded me, shroud-like...

...one which had nothing to do with the air conditioner...

...and before I even opened my eyes, I felt it...

...as it penetrated every corner of the room...and hovered in an invisible - yet very tangible - blanket directly over my bed...

...and, somehow, I knew why.

Opening one eye a crack, I looked across the room and out my window...

...at the high wall of ominous, angry, iron-gray clouds that hung outside it...

...foreshadowing what was almost certainly to come...

...and at that moment, more than anything, I just wanted to stay in bed for the entire day...

...but I was well aware that it was not an option...

...because if I attempted to, Grandad would think that I was sick, and would drag me straight to a doctor...

...and so, with a dejected sigh, I looked over at my alarm clock.

7:34 a.m.

Two minutes later I got up, since I had to...

...telling myself as I did, that maybe I was over-reacting...

...and that maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all. I kept repeating this mantra while I took a long, hot shower...

...reminding myself, repeatedly, to stop being so pessimistic...

...and that 'today is actually going to be a good one'.

By the time I'd finished toweling off, I had almost convinced myself...

...and, after getting dressed, I walked (almost) optimistically to the kitchen...

...where I found Grandad, already seated at the table, about halfway through a toasted sesame bagel...

...with his face buried in the morning paper.

After saying 'Good Morning' to him (and receiving a distracted, muttered reply), I sat down and poured myself huge bowl of _Special J_ cereal. Just as I reached for the milk carton, Grandad set his paper aside and looked across the table at me...

...wearing a very serious expression...

...as he asked, "Do you know what today's date is?"

I didn't have to pause to consider.

"The twenty-ninth," I replied at once...

...trying hard to keep the excitement out of my voice...

...and I watched him nod.

"That's right, today is the twenty-ninth," he confirmed...

...while I sat, holding my breath...

...waiting in joyful, eager anticipation...

...while he added, "which means that it's been more than three weeks since I last fertilized the garden."

Puzzled at this revelation, I nodded anyway...

...and then almost passed out when he stated, "Which means that I'd like you to take care of it...today."

I sat staring at him, in stunned silence...

...absolutely unable to believe what I'd just heard.

Fertilizing the garden is the the _Worst Project_ _in the Entire World_...

...and one that he's well aware I positively **hate**...

...but still, he sat there, looking at me...

...expectantly...

...while I, well aware of the consequences of arguing with him...

_...ever again..._

...bit back the urge to scream my refusal, and instead replied, "Okay...as soon as I finish breakfast."

Grandad shook his head.

"No, Carly," he replied. "...right now."

"B-but-" I began, astonished that he was going to make me do something so horrible...on an empty stomach...

...and again, Grandad shook his head.

"No," he cut me off abruptly. "Not right after breakfast..._Right Now_. It looks like it's going to rain any minute, so you need to start immediately."

Stunned, I sat staring at him...

...waiting for the punchline.

Waiting for him to say that he was only kidding...

...and that he'd _never_ make me do such a horrible project...

...especially not today...

_...since today was my birthday!_

But, as it turns out, I waited in vain...

...while he sat, still staring at me, as if daring me to argue with him...

...and I, in a daze, got up from my chair and headed out the back door.

Less than a minute later, I was walking into the garage...

...and then, already feeling queasy, I slowly approached the large metal trash can, sitting on its wheeled cart, which stood in the far corner. After a long stretch of apprehensive hesitation, I lifted its lid...

...choking immediately, as the overwhelming stench of rotting fish entrails reached my nose...

...heartbroken that the thing wasn't empty...

...an act of mercy which would have spared me from this hell...

...but nonetheless, I grabbed the cart's handle and wheeled it out into the warm, damp, foggy back yard; and over to the garden hose which hung, neatly coiled, on the back wall of the house.

Bending down, I scooped a generous amount of the foul crap into a large bucket...

...then added water and stirred...

...holding my breath the entire time...

...but gagging anyway, as the aforementioned, atrocious smell of entrails...

...now joined (thanks to the addition of water) by the putrid fumes of raw sewage, and badly-decomposed roadkill forced their way up my nostrils anyway...

_...all the way up..._

...and, eyes streaming, I picked the bucket up from the ground...

...and staggered over to the first row of radishes...

...where, with the old, long-handled restaurant ladle I'd used to stir this nasty, toxic stew...

...I began to pour it around each of the plants...

...rapidly becoming more and more nauseous...

...until, less than three minutes later, just as I'd reached the middle row of basil...

...I dropped the ladle and the nearly empty bucket onto the ground, and stumbled over to the edge of the garden plot...

...and, clutching my badly-convulsing stomach, I bent forward and began retching violently...

_**...with the world's worst case of dry heaves...**_

...but, since I hadn't eaten anything for at least twelve hours, nothing came out of my empty, aching insides but a few long trailing strands of sour, bile-tainted saliva...

...even though my stomach continued to clench, violently, over and over.

Wiping my streaming eyes on my forearm (my hands were way too nasty), I looked up and stared across the garden...

...in the direction of the kitchen window...

...desperately hoping that Grandad was standing there...

...witnessing what was happening...

...and that he would have mercy on me...

...but there was no sign of him.

Somehow, I managed to force myself to resume this revolting, sickening project...

...and about fifteen minutes later, after two more rounds of involuntarily trying (and failing) to vomit, I'd finally finished the last row of tomatoes. After hastily putting everything back in the garage, I dragged my weak, dizzy, offensive-smelling self in the back door..

...and straight over to the kitchen sink. Grandad, having finished breakfast, had already left the room, and thankful for it, I hunched over the sink...

...washing my hands no less than four times; but then realizing, to my horror, that I still positively reeked …

...from head to toe...

...which meant that I was going to have to take _another_ shower, even though my last one had been less than two hours ago.

Still incredibly queasy, I stared down at my untouched breakfast, still sitting where I'd left it...

...and, realizing that I now had no appetite whatsoever, I poured my bowl of dry cereal back into the box...

...and then headed straight to the bathroom...

...where I spent nearly an hour, scrubbing hard, with the blue (abrasive) side of my _Buff Puff_; and washing my hair another three times...

...in a valiant, desperate attempt to get the stench off me. Finally (and after much effort), it seemed to be gone, so I dried off and put my bathrobe on...

...and then, I picked up my disgusting clothes from the tile floor, using just my fingertips...

...but instead of putting them into the hamper, I made a beeline for the laundry room and threw them into the washer...

...all of them...

...including my sneakers. Fortunately, I had brought three pairs with me to Yakima, so I didn't end up having to wear my old, scruffy ones for the rest of the day...which are the ones I _should _have put on in the first place before tackling this project …

...and which I _would _have, if he'd only given me the chance!

After adding a double dose of detergent to the machine, I headed back up the hall and toward my bedroom; and as I did, Grandad stuck his head out the door of his office, asking, "So, what are you doing today?"

I'd already decided that, after what he'd just put me through, I didn't want to be anywhere near him.

"I'm going to the library...and reading up on colleges," I announced...

...while secretly hoping with all my heart that he'd stop me anyway...

...saying that he forbid me to do that; because it was my birthday...

...and, therefore, he was taking me out for lunch (or something) to celebrate...

...but instead, he merely nodded his silent approval...

...and, with a heavy heart, I entered my bedroom and began to get dressed.

Fifteen minutes later I shouldered my backpack and, after one final glance in my mirror, I crossed my room to leave it...

...but, just as I was reaching for the doorknob, I heard Grandad talking on the phone (his office is right next to my bedroom). Anyway, I know that it's wrong to eavesdrop on other people's conversations...

...but today I made an exception...

...and listened intently...

...because I was desperately hoping to hear that he was on the phone with a bakery...

...making arrangements to pick up my birthday cake...

...or calling a florist shop, ordering me some flowers...

...but instead, I froze, shocked, as I heard him say, "All right, Violet, I'll pick you up. No, it's not a problem; I don't have any plans for today anyway."

And a minute later, wiping my eyes on the back of my hand, I opened my bedroom silently and crept down the hall, and then out the front door...

...out into the cruel, mocking, dreary morning.

After a less than ten minute walk, I had reached Yakima's main shopping district...

...and then, even though I absolutely did not want to, my first stop was _Skybucks..._

_..._because, although my badly-knotted insides were killing me, I'd had too much first-hand experience with the hazardous consequences of skipping meals...

...ans so, I coaxed my still-stormy stomach into finishing some hot tea and a croissant; and then, just to be on the safe side, I went back up to the counter and ordered a chocolate chip muffin.

After I'd eaten most of that, my stomach and I reached a sort of uneasy truce, and the rest of my body began to feel slightly better as well...

...except for the left side of my chest.

No amount of food could fill the gaping, aching hole there...

...and now, feeling utterly abandoned and alone, I walked slowly to the library...

...dropping all further expectations of well-wishes...

...from anyone...

...figuring that, since Grandad had forgotten today is my birthday, that Sam probably had too...

...and that, since Spencer had been so busy lately, there was no reason to expect him to remember either.

Once inside the library, I stopped at the magazine rack and grabbed a huge, random handful...

...not even bothering to look at the titles...

...and then, finding an empty table, I sank down into a chair; where I slouched, chin on chest, staring at the unread stack sitting in front of me...

...for nearly half an hour...

...until finally, my brooding was interrupted by two young cocky guys, who sat down at the table behind me...

...and, apparently thinking that they were in a _locker room_ instead of a_ library_, immediately launched into one of the filthiest conversations I'd ever heard.

"So, Phil, did you end up getting any pussy last night?"

"Not at first," was the reply. "I said that we were going back to my place, but she started nagging me to take her home instead. I told her that I had something a lot more fun planned, but she kept insisting; and it really pissed me off; so finally I reminded her that _**I**_ was the one who paid for dinner, which meant that she was going to be 'dessert'.

Phil's friend laughed rudely.

"And what did she say to that news?"

"The bitch said 'no', so I started driving west, in the direction she lives, but then, instead of turning down her street, I kept going...and drove all the way over to the far side of Leech Lake.

"Leech Lake?" his friend exclaimed. "That's out in the middle of nowhere!"

"I know!" Phil confirmed. "As soon as I stopped, she tried to get out of the car, but I told her that I just wanted to talk to her about something; and that I had a bottle of 18% _Madd Dogg_ under the seat. She loves to drink, but her parents forbid her to; so she decided to stick around for a little while. Anyway, after we'd finished maybe half the bottle, we started arguing, about how she never puts out, and I informed her that she's a fucking tease, which she needed to change, right then and there; and if she didn't like it, then she could walk all the way home in the dark. Then, I turned the car lights off, so even if she got out, she wouldn't be able to see anything. She started screaming at me to take her home, but I whipped my dick out and said 'Not so fast...first things first'. She refused again, so I slapped her and said 'Suck it bitch, I'm doing you a favor by even letting you touch it, you ugly fucking cunt!'"

My jaw dropped.

Phil's friend laughed again.

"Did she?" he asked.

"It took more persuading, but you bet she did...but before she even got it in her mouth I grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, and said, 'You'd better make this good, but don't worry, I'm going to reward your efforts...right afterward, I'm going to shove it all the way up that tight little ass of yours."

Equally disgusted and horrified, I whipped my head around to the Circulation Desk, looking over at the librarian, who was sitting well within earshot...

...only to see her texting busily...

...so engrossed in it that she wasn't even aware of the conversation.

Or maybe she just didn't care.

I was dragged involuntarily back to the discussion as Phil's friend asked, "Aren't you worried she'll go to the cops?"

"Nah. The bitch was so fucking drunk that this morning I'm sure she won't even remember where she was...or that it was me who plowed her... in fact she won't remember anything...except for her aching, bleeding asshole...I guarantee she won't forget that in a hurry! Which reminds me-"

I didn't wait around to hear the rest.

Getting to my feet, I abandoned my pile of unread magazines, and stumbled to the far end of the room...

...toward it's left-hand back corner...

...and solitude.

Sitting down on the carpeted floor, I grabbed a random book from one of the shelves in front of me, and then, not even bothering to check the title, I leaned back wearily against the cool plaster wall behind me. Opening the book somewhere in the middle, I stared down at it, numbly, not comprehending what I was looking at...

...until, less than three minutes later, I heard a stern voice demanding, "What are you doing back here?"

"Uh...reading," I replied, looking up abruptly, to see a rather large library security guard standing, hands on hips, directly in front of me...

...and scowling down at me.

"We have tables up front for reading," he announced, "so you can't be back here."

"But it...it's quieter back here," I pointed out.

"Well, well, who's not being a good listener?" he replied, now speaking to me as if I were five years old. "Didn't I just say you can't be back here?"

Not wanting to start an argument with him...

...one which, with my luck, would find it's way straight back to Grandad...

...I merely nodded.

"Well then," he continued, just as condescendingly, "I suggest that you move...immediately."

Shoving the book I was still holding back into a random gap on one of the shelves, I got to my feet and headed, obediently, back to the front of the room; but instead of stopping at the table I'd sat at earlier, I continued on...

...all the way out the front door. Stopping at the bottom of the library steps, I took a deep breath...

...while trying, and failing, to steady myself...

...and then, I began walking...

...with no idea where...

...or why.

So far the rain had held off, but, within minutes, it finally began, in the form of a bare drizzle...

...and I smiled wryly, surprised that, after the way my day had been going so far, it wasn't pouring on me.

I spent the next hour or two wandering aimlessly, not taking in my surroundings; but eventually my awareness returned, as I noticed that I'd reached one of Yakima's residential areas...in fact, the one nearest my own neighborhood...

...and ten minutes later, I ended up at the front gate of the _East Wilson Street Playground_; which, due to the impending rain, was currently deserted. I remembered having played here as a kid...and, entering, I crossed over to its far side, where I found myself staring at its most appealing attraction...

...the long, tall, wavy sliding board.

I'd always loved this slide, not just for its shape, height, and length; but also because of the little enclosed fort that stood at the top...

...which was just big enough for two rowdy children...

...or one lonely eighteen-year old...

...and, immediately climbing to the top of the ladder, I crawled inside...

...wanting to get away from the rain...

...and the world.

Sitting down, I leaned back against the enclosure's formerly red, but now sun-bleached-pink fiberglass wall...

...savoring the semi darkness and the solitude...

...but less than a minute later, I was looking down at my watch.

_CRAP! _

Two hours ago, I'd been so focused on getting out of the house (and away from Grandad), that I'd completely forgotten to take tonight's dinner out of the freezer. Unfortunately, our microwave's defrost feature doesn't work correctly (it actually incinerates the food), and I didn't want him pissed off at me.

While eavesdropping earlier, I hadn't heard what he was planning with Mrs. L...or if he'd even be home in time for dinner (which I always start cooking around 5:30), but still, I was taking no chances; and so, even though I had no desire whatsoever to talk to him...

...I called his cellphone anyway. He didn't answer, so I just left a message, asking him to take the boneless chicken breasts out of the freezer to defrost...

...and then I hung up...

...abruptly...

...because my other line was ringing...

...and, looking at my phone's display, I was overjoyed to see that the call was from Sam! Since the day I arrived in Yakima, she's only ever called me in the evenings; and, since it was now barely one p.m., it could only mean one thing...

...that she's remembered it's my birthday!

Heart pounding, I clapped the phone to my ear.

_"SAM?"_

"Hi, Carls!"

"Hi! This is a nice surprise...and you're calling early," I said pointedly.

"Well yeah...but there's never a wrong time to call you."

"Aw, Sweetheart! You always say the sweetest things! So, what's the occasion?" I prompted her.

"I just wanted to say 'hello'," she answered.

"R-really?" I asked, suddenly and desperately hoping that I'd heard her wrong. " That's it?"

"Yeah, there's nothing interesting going on here right now," she informed me.

"W-well, then, let's just talk for a while anyway...about _anything__,_" I urged...

...thinking that maybe, if I spent enough time dropping enough subtle hints, she'd remember it was my birthday."

"Sorry...can't," she replied dismissively. "I'm going to be busy for the rest of the day, but I decided to give you a fast call right now, because you know I never let a day pass without saying 'hi.'"

"No, you don't...uh, you're busy...busy doing what?" I asked.

"Don't ask...it's too horrible to describe!" she groaned, then added, "So, anyway, I've gotta run, but give me a call tomorrow, okay?"

"Uh, okay," I murmured...

...with an obvious catch in my voice...

...which she obviously missed, because she sounded quite cheerful as she ended, "Okay then...bye!"

She hung up.

I spent the next minute or so staring down at the darkened phone in my hand...

...and then, falling back against the damp, cold fiberglass wall behind me, I pulled my knees up under my chin, lowered my forehead onto them, and began to cry.

Sam had forgotten after all...

...and the only reason she's ever remembered in the past is because Spencer always asks for her help when he's planning my parties.

After only a few minutes, I stopped crying...

...because there really didn't seem to be any point in it...

...but still, I spent the rest of the early afternoon sitting there, utterly alone...in every sense of the word...

...wallowing deeply in much-justified self-pity...

...until finally, realizing that I needed to pee and to start dinner, I emerged from my temporary sanctuary, into the misty afternoon...

...and headed home.

Halfway there, the sun (finally and mockingly) came out.

Seeing Grandad's car parked in the driveway did nothing to diminish my melancholy...

...but I did my best to hide this as I entered the living room, to find him sitting on the couch, reading.

"Hi," I offered.

"Hello."

I stood there, waiting, for nearly a minute, for him to say something else...

_...anything else..._

...but he turned his eyes back downward, and the silence stretched on painfully...

...and, just wanting to be alone again, I walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

Oh no!

Why me, Lord? I asked silently...

...but no answer came...

...and, expecting the worst, I stuck my head out kitchen archway.

"Grandad?"

He looked back over the top of his evening paper.

"Yes?"

"Uh, didn't you get my message? I called earlier, asking you to pull chicken breasts out of the freezer for dinner, because I forgot to this morning."

Grandad frowned.

"Can't you just defrost them in the microwave?" he asked.

"No. The defrost feature is screwed up," I reminded him.

A long stretch of awkward silence ensued...

...until, finally, he said ,"Well, I guess we could order a pizza."

Relieved, I nodded.

"All right, then. I'll call _Marioni's_," he said...

...and my heart plummeted.

I'd only eaten at Marioni's once...

...but once was enough!

I have vivid memories of that place, because they'd put anchovies on by mistake...

…and those anchovies were _chopped_...which meant that they were virtually impossible to remove...

...and, even though I like most types of food, that's one I absolutely hate! Grandad, annoyed at my reluctance, had told me to 'grow up'...

...and to 'stop over-reacting'...

...and that 'they're only anchovies'...

...and that, unless I wanted 'to go hungry that evening, I'd eat them anyway'...

...and so I did...

...only to have them come right back up an hour later.

My unpleasant reminiscing was cut short when Grandad repeated, "Okay, I'll call and ask them to deliver."

And then...inspiration struck.

"Why ask them to deliver? _Marioni's_ is only three blocks away, and it's a nice evening...so why don't we just walk over and have dinner there?" I suggested...

...not bothering to tell him that my real objective for going was to stand as close to the work station as I possibly could, watching the cook like a hawk, making sure he got the order right before he put the damn thing in the oven!

Grandad shook his head.

"No, we're staying here...and I'll tell you why...because its almost six P.M...which means that you and I are going to watch the news...together. You don't spend nearly enough time studying world events," he announced...

...and my heart plummeted again.

Before I could come up with any kind of argument or alternative to suggest, Grandad stood up and felt in his pockets for his phone. Realizing that he must have left it on his desk, he turned and headed down the hallway, calling over his shoulder, "Pepperoni and extra cheese...is that okay?"

"Yes, please," I answered...

...then adding (under my breath), "And hold the fucking anchovies!"

Less than five minutes later, I heard him step back into the hallway, but instead of returning to the living room, he walked into the bathroom instead...

...and suddenly, I realized that my phone was vibrating...

...and, yanking it from my pocket, I saw that the caller was Sam!

"Hi, Cupcake!" she exclaimed.

"Hi! what are you doing?" I asked.

"Wondering what _you're_ doing."

"Don't ask," I groaned.

"That bad, huh?" she replied sympathetically.

"Worse!" I replied. "_The News!_"

"Oh, crap! So what are you making him for dinner to retaliate...something with arsenic?" she suggested eagerly.

"I'm not making anything; Granddad's having something delivered," I informed her.

"Well that's good...because at least you'll have a break from cooking," she pointed out; then added, "Anyway, I'm glad I caught you. I _had_ to call again, because I just realized that I forgot to tell you something this morning...something extremely important!"

"That's okay!" I replied eagerly...

...forgiving her instantly...

...and then, as I sat holding my breath...

...reminding myself not to squeal until _after_ she'd wished me a _Happy Birthday_...

...she stated, in an incredibly excited voice, "Carlotta Taylor Shay...I'm calling to tell you...

...that Nevel was arrested!"

Stunned...

...by the realization that she'd forgotten after all...

...I found it impossible to respond.

I'd have burst into tears if I'd even tried.

Nearly a minute of silence passed, and then she asked, "Carls are you still there?"

"Y-yes," I replied, somehow managing to regain partial contol over my emotions; and, struggling to keep my voice even, I asked, "S-so...what happened?"

Completely oblivious to what she'd just done...

...of how badly she'd just crushed me...

...she went on eagerly, "Well, two days ago, around 6 P.M., my cousin Garth was at that grocery store over on East Madison, you know..._The Food Circus. _Anyway, a few months ago, he saw that web cast we did about Nevel, the one where he yelled at that little girl, so he recognized him standing in the checkout line next to his. Well, as it turns out, Nevel's line wasn't moving, because the lady who was four people ahead of him wanted to pay with a check and couldn't find her I.D.; and he was getting really antsy about it, shifting from one foot to other, complaining that she needed to hurry up, because he had a hundred things to do that evening. Anyway, Nevel's lane was the _Express Check-Out_, which has a limit of ten items or less...and he was furious that it still wasn't moving; and then, he noticed that the man standing ahead of him had two six-packs of soda, so he started giving the guy a hard time, saying that two six packs is twelve cans, which is really twelve items instead of two, which meant that he was over the limit, which meant that he needed to get into another lane...immediately. They got into a huge argument about it; and then, the man standing ahead of the 'Soda Guy', who was only buying a dozen eggs, turned around and joined in...and he was taking 'Soda Guy's' side! This pissed Nevel off, so he yelled, "Hey, you with the eggs! That's twelve too...so get out of line!"

"That...does sound like Nevel," I admitted.

"Wait!" Sam exclaimed excitedly. "There's more! So, the guy with the eggs left his place in line and walked back to where Nevel was standing, to continue their argument; and after another couple of minutes of yelling at each other, Nevel, who was holding an entire side of smoked salmon, smacked the 'Eggs' guy in the face with it...hard...and, seconds later, the two of them were thrashing around on the floor! It took four security guards to separate them! Ten minutes later, the cops were dragging Nevel out of the store...in handcuffs!"

"Well, that's certainly an entertaining story. So, is that the only reason why you called me...I mean, is there...is...there..._anything else_?" I asked hopefully

"Nah," she replied dismissively, "I just thought you'd want to know. Anyway, gotta run again, so call me tomorrow okay?"

Numb, I told her that I would...

...and then, I turned my phone off.

She had forgotten after all...

...but at that moment there was no time to feel sorry for myself...

...because Grandad was now sitting in the armchair next to the couch...

...remote in hand...

...and, less than a minute later, I found myself staring at_ The Six O'Clock News_...

...cringing inwardly (and probably outwardly, too)...

...and not even the slightest bit interested in dinner anymore...

...because nothing kills an appetite faster than watching endless footage of smudgy-faced, crying orphans, set against a back drop of desolate war-torn Third-World countries!

After nearly half an hour of this torment, the doorbell (finally) rang.

Grandad, after glancing at his watch, pulled out his sterling silver money clip and handed me twenty-five dollars.

"That must be the driver. Here, tell him to keep the change," he directed, rising from his chair.

I watched as he disappeared into the kitchen; and then, getting up from the couch, I headed across the living room...

...dragging my feet the entire way...

...wondering if they'd actually gotten the order right this time, or if my already-abysmal evening was about to suck even worse, as I tried to choke down revolting anchovies...

...the smell of which would only remind me of this morning's hell, when I fertilized the garden...

...and, with my stomach beginning to churn again, I opened the front door.

Moments later, I was holding a huge _Marioni's_ _Pizza _box in my hands...

...but only for a split second...

...before throwing it onto the table by the door...

...and then flinging my arms around the 'delivery guy', and bursting into tears...

...with my face pressed against the left shoulder of her teal-and-white-striped rugby shirt.

I felt her pushing my hair away from my ear, and saying in a low voice, "Cupcake, it's a known fact that Yakima pizza sucks, but there's no need to get _this _upse-"

"I've m-missed you!" I sobbed, tightening my arms...

...and pulling her as close to me as I possibly could. "Oh G-god, I've m-missed you s-so m-much!"

"Shh. It's okay. I'm here now. Go thank your grandad," she whispered...

...but I couldn't let go of her.

I have no idea how much time passed, but it couldn't have been more than thirty seconds, when finally Grandad called across the room to Sam, "The bathroom's at the far end of the hall. Why don't you go wash up?"

I felt her nodding, and seconds later, she pulled free of my reluctant, imprisoning arms...

...and then I watched as she headed down the hall...

...but I didn't follow...

...because, somehow, I knew that he wanted to speak to me...

...alone.

And so, I turned to him...

...standing over on the other side of living room, at the entrance to the kitchen...

...where, as I glanced past his left shoulder, I noticed that he had already set the table...

...for three.

Trembling with uncertainty, I approached him...

...slowly and tentatively...

...more than a little confused at the stern, 'This is far from over' expression I saw on his face...

...and wondering if I should hug him anyway. My question was soon answered, when he blocked me from doing so, by extending his right hand in front of him, at chest level...

...and, as he did, I saw the piece of paper he was holding in it.

It was lavender...

...and covered in green ink...

...and immediately, I recognized it as the one he'd brought home from Mrs. Payne's nearly two weeks ago...

...but now, less than two steps from where he stood...

...I froze in my tracks...

...because from here, I clearly saw that the penmanship on it wasn't Mrs. Payne's at all...

...but had been written in an entirely different hand...

...and a very familiar one at that.

Suddenly realizing that Grandad was waiting...

...I took another two steps forward, closing the gap between us; and, with trembling hands, I took the paper from his, and then...

...without a word, I began to read:

{_Dear Mr. Shay,_

_Your neighbor, Mrs. Payne, let me come into her house to write this note, and promised to deliver it to you._

_Anyway, I'm not confiding in Carly about any of this, so please don't say anything to her. _

_From what she's told me, I know that the two of you have had a falling-out, and that it was a bad one; but I'm writing to tell you that it's not her fault._

_It's mine._

_And the reason that it's mine is because Carly had promised me that trip to Atlantic City...for well over a month. She knows that I come from a, well, a very disadvantaged background, and, since I've grown up missing out on so many things that other kids take for granted, she really wanted me, for the first time in my life, to be able to go on vacation. And when you said she couldn't go, it wasn't her own disappointment that caused her to yell at you, it was knowing how disappointed I was going to be. That's the only reason she acted the way she did; and so, if you're going to be upset with anyone, please be upset with me._

_I know that you aren't the least bit interested in anything I have to say; still, I feel I owe you both an explanation and an apology; and I know that it may be impossible for me to ever make amends for everything that's happened, but I still want to try._

_Anyway, Carly had mentioned once or twice that you were 'somewhat less than satisfied' with your current landscaper's results, so I came down this morning and took care of your lawn and hedges myself; and I give you my solemn word that I'll be back, every single Sunday, to do this...completely free of charge. _

_I realize that I am no longer welcome in your home, for more than one reason, and so I want to assure you that while I'm working on your yard, I won't cause any trouble at all, and that I won't try to see Carly at all either. All I'm asking in return is that you please not be angry at her anymore; she's a genuinely good person, and she doesn't deserve it._

_Once again, I'm really, really sorry...for everything that's happened..._

_...and I'm going to do anything and everything I can, for as long as you want, to try to make things right._

_Sincerely,_

_Samantha Puckett_

_P.S. I hope you don't mind, but I also took the liberty of washing and waxing your car._}

Shaking, and completely numb, I lifted my astonished eyes to his still-glaring ones, then handed the paper back to him and watched as he refolded it; and it disappeared, once again, into his pocket.

I couldn't believe it.

Sam...

...my Sam...

...doing hard, physical labor...

_**...VOLUNTARILY?**_

And where was she getting the money for bus fare?

As it turned out, I didn't have time to ponder either of these questions because, suddenly, I noticed that she had rejoined us.

Seconds later, she was shrugging her backpack off. Grandad took it from her and, after setting it on one end of the couch, he led us out to the kitchen. Without a word, he pointed at the chair directly across from his own, and with a nod she sat in it, while I sat at my usual spot, down at the far end of the rectangular table...

...waiting silently...

...while he sat, staring across the table at her...

...scrutinizing her intently...

...and I'm sure that she was well aware of it, but either she wasn't phased by this, or else she was hiding her nervousness very, very well. Finally, Grandad opened the lid of the pizza box...

...but I barely noticed what was inside it...

...because I was so thrilled to be in the same room with Sam that, if there had been anchovies on the pizza tonight...

...even ten pounds of them...

...I wouldn't have cared.

Less than a minute later, wordlessly, the three of us began eating...

...but I wasn't looking at my pizza...

...I was looking at her...

...but she wasn't looking at me...

...she was looking at her pizza...

...and, occasionally, up at him...

...as if asking his permission to speak...

...but, by his glare...and his silence...he made it very clear to her that he wasn't granting it...

...and so, she didn't say a word, but continued eating her dinner. As for me, I didn't speak either...

...and didn't even bother to ask for permission.

I knew better.

Anyway, Sam, judging by how thin she still was, must have been absolutely ravenous, but still she ate with amazing restraint. Since the pizza was an extra-large, it had been cut into twelve pieces...

...and we all stopped after three pieces each...

...but, after noticing how longingly Sam was eying what was left, Grandad invited her to finish the remaining three...

...and she did...

..while he sat, still staring...

...like he was eagerly looking for any reason to criticize her...

...but her table manners were, possibly (and probably) for the first time in her life, absolutely impeccable.

Once the box was empty, Grandad set it over on the kitchen counter and then, after sitting back down, he looked back across the table at her. Leaning forward and glaring once again, he began, "I guess you know why I invited you here?"

And I sat there, watching her...

...intently and breathlessly...

...waiting for her to acknowledge that _**of course **_she was aware why he had...

...because today's Carly's birthday...

...but she just sat there, looking back at him...

...clearly confused...

...but, since I love her so much, I forgave her...

...because I knew for a fact that, the instant he'd told her what today is, that she was going to apologize to me, immediately and profusely, for having forgotten.

But Grandad did nothing of the sort.

He didn't tell her what today is.

Instead, he asked, "Did you see the catalog I left in the garage, on the far end of the workbench?"

"The one from _The_ _World of Roses_?" she replied...

...and he nodded, then said, "Yes, I'm planning to plant six or so bushes on one side of the house...but I haven't decided which variety yet, or exactly where."

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Well, Mr. Shay, I think that over on the left-hand side of the house would be your best bet, since it has such an advantageous Southern exposure...and they're going to need at least four or five hours of sun per day" she suggested...

...and he nodded...

...and my jaw dropped in disbelief.

How could Sam, who had no prior knowledge whatsoever on the subject of flowers, suddenly have become an expert on roses? And how could she, having never picked up a rake before, let alone a lawn mower handle, be doing such a consistently-fantastic job landscaping the front yard? I wondered.

Within seconds, the answer came to me...

...as I recalled the time that Ms. Briggs had, purely out of spite, given me a D+ instead of an A on an English report...

...and Sam, livid at how upset I was, had declared...

...while holding me in her arms as I cried...

...that she was going to blow Briggs's car to smithereens.

I'd immediately (and tearfully) pointed out that she didn't even know _how_ to make a bomb (thank God), but she'd immediately assured me that _anyone_ could quickly become an expert, in _any _subject, by spending only thirty minutes online, watching videos on ZooTube...

...and now I knew why she had been so busy earlier in the day...

...and probably every other day for the past two weeks as well...

...and why she'd told me that her morning's plans were too horrible to describe.

She had been on the Seattle Public Library's computers...

...educating herself!

My thoughts soon returned to the present, where the two of them were still discussing landscaping issues...

...and I realized, to my disappointment, that she hadn't looked at me or spoken to me once since we'd started dinner...

...but still, I did my best to ignore that fact and sat in silence, listening as she offered Grandad insight after expert insight on the installation, care, and feeding of rose bushes...

...a subject in which she has had, up 'til now, zero experience...

...and less than zero interest...

...while he sat, nodding occasionally, still shrewdly sizing her up...

...and I sat, continuing to be ignored by both of them...

...waiting for them to turn in my direction, and to let me in on the joke...

...waiting for them both to laugh, and to say that they were only kidding, and had been planning this whole thing for week at least...

...but they didn't. They just continued their discussion, like I wasn't even there...

...without even so much as a glance in my direction...

...and with no birthday wishes...

...from either of them.

About twenty minutes later, I vaguely remember Grandad saying something like, 'I'll order six of the Killarney bushes.'"

Sam nodded approvingly, adding, "As far as Hybrid Tea roses go, I think those are your best bet."

What was happening?

Why hadn't she looked in my direction...even once...

...even though she's been here for almost two hours?

And then, suddenly, it hit me.

Sam had told Grandad that she wasn't going to try to see me; and now I understood the expression on his face as he'd shown me the letter. He was saying, 'This is her sacrifice; what's **_yours_** going to be?'

And now I was seeing for myself, first-hand, exactly what her sacrifice was...

...and that it didn't just involve just weekly, back-breaking landscaping work...

...but that (even though we'd been kept apart for months) she was also willingly depriving herself of the (desperately-longed-for) pleasure of my company...

...to show him how incredibly sorry she was for what had happened...

...and, even though this hurt me badly...

...I realized that she was doing it for me...because she loves me...

...and so, I blinked back the tears that were starting to form in my eyes...

...and bit back the urge to scream at both of them to at least look at me...

...even once.

And then I noticed that they seemed to have exhausted the subject of rosebushes, because they both fell silent. Grandad sat, leaning forward, still staring at Sam...

...while she sat, looking back at him pleasantly...

...and suddenly, Grandad cocked his head to one side.

"You're looking kind of thin these days," he observed...

...but before she could respond, he added, "So, can I interest you in dessert...maybe some cake?"

At once, she nodded...

...and my heart jumped. He _had_ been to the bakery after all!

"Yes, please," Sam replied...

...trying (and failing) to not sound too eager and hungry...

...and, with a curt nod, he got up from the table and walked over to the left-hand kitchen cabinet...

...while I sat holding my breath...

...only to release it, crushed, as he pulled out a plain marble loaf cake...

...one that he'd bought at the grocery store.

No icing...

...no writing...

...no candles...

...and still no still acknowledgment, from either of them, that I was even in the same room.

Sam, who (out of necessity) has never been a picky eater, didn't seem to mind that it was only a pound cake Grandad was serving; and within ten minutes, she'd finished three pieces...

...while I'd barely eaten three bites...

...when, seeming to realize that dinner was over, she got up from her chair and started to clear the table.

"That's not necessary," he informed her, "Carly will clean up later."

As she set the stack of plates in the sink and turned to look at him, he got up himself, and then led us both into the living room...

...and over to the TV.

With a silent sigh, I sank down onto the couch, while Sam turned to Grandad.

"What's on?" she asked.

"_Twentieth Century French Philosophers_," he answered, "a subject that I'm sure won't interest you in the least."

At this, I smiled...

...quietly yet smugly...

...because I knew that truer words had never been uttered...

...but my sarcastic smirk quickly morphed into slack-jawed disbelief as I glanced back over at Sam...

...who looked like Christmas had just come early.

"Are you kidding? I love French philosophy!" she exclaimed, throwing herself down into the armchair. "Although I must take issue with Sartre's views on Existentialism...since they conflict so profoundly with my own personal religious beliefs," she added...

...while Granddad's jaw dropped...

...and I almost fell off the couch!

_**W...? T...? F...?**_

If there's one thing I know for a fact, it's that Sam positively _**hates**_ anything to do with history...

...not to mention the social sciences...

...and she wouldn't know an Existentialist from an Extra Terrestrial...

...so now, how can she suddenly be such an expert on...

...oh, yeah...

_...Zoo Tube._

I remember zero about the show...

...because I spent the entire sixty minutes looking over at her...

...as she sat, only five feet away, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees...

...staring rapturously at the TV screen...

...while I sat, wishing that she was on the couch with me, instead of over in the armchair...

...and fighting as hard as I could against the burning, compelling urge to run over and plant myself on her lap...

...and about two hundred kisses on her face...

...forcing her to look at me.

As I mentioned, I remember zero about the show.

An hour later it ended, and Grandad picked the remote up, and switched to the news channel; and then, after glancing at his watch, he looked over at Sam.

"I think the last bus to Seattle is leaving in about twenty minutes."

Wordlessly, she nodded.

"And it's an almost fifteen minute walk to the bus station from here, so you'd better head out now," he added...

...while I sat, speechless...

...not believing what I'd just heard. The bus station he was referring to is located near Murphy's Pool Hall...

...in one of Yakima's worst neighborhoods...

...and he wasn't even offering to drive her!

So as Sam stood up, I did too...

...but before I could utter a word, Grandad turned to me.

"No."

And then, before I could even begin to protest...

...he stated, "I don't want you walking back home alone...in the dark."

"Thank you for dinner, Mr. Shay, and I promise I'll be back next Sunday to take care of the front yard," Sam announced...

...and I looked over, to see her shouldering her backpack...

...and then, for the first time since I'd hugged her at the front door, she turned in my direction...

...and spoke to me.

"It was nice to see you again, Carls," she said...

...politely, yet with an unmistakeable undercurrent of longing in her voice...

...and, turning away, she walked through the open front door, and out into the misty Yakima night...

...and then, she was gone.

And I, in a daze, stumbled out to the kitchen and cleaned up...

...not comprehending **any** of what had just happened...

...only knowing that Grandad _MUST _have known it was my birthday...

...even though Sam hadn't...

...and that he obviously had deliberately planned this whole evening for one reason only: _**To Torture Me!**_

Once the last dish had been washed, and the counters wiped down, I re-entered the living room...

...but Grandad wasn't there.

He'd already gone to bed...

...without extending birthday wishes...

...and without even a 'Good Night'...

...and, heartbroken, I went to take a long shower.

Forty minutes later, I'd put my pajamas on and climbed into bed...

...numb and despairing...

...and, despite having promised myself that I wasn't going to cry, I felt hot tears stinging the corners of my eyes anyway...

...as I fell back onto my pillow...

...and sat up again, just as quickly...

...rubbing the back of my neck, which had just collided with something pointy.

Turning toward the headboard, I reached down and tossed my pillow aside...

...and then I froze, speechless, at what was under it...

...because I found myself staring down at large, rectangular box., covered in red-and-white striped gift wrap.

I couldn't believe it.

I'm so upset I must be hallucinating, I told myself...

...but, nonetheless, I reached forward and, slowly and tentatively, touched one trembling finger to the box's front edge.

It was real.

But still, I sat staring at it...

...with my heart pounding...

...for what must have been at least five minutes...

...until finally, hands shaking, I removed the envelope that was taped to its top, and opened it.

She had designed and drawn the card herself...

...which made it that much more meaningful to me...

...and looking down at it, I smiled broadly...

...for the first time that day.

Its front flap featured an accurately...and elaborately...drawn picture of Freddie, behind his tech cart, holding onto some piece of electronic equipment...

...while being electrocuted...

...violently...

...with his feet completely off the floor...

...and with abundant, black smoke pouring out of both his ears...

...and with his hair sticking out jaggedly in all directions...

...and with bright orange/red flames shooting out from the butt area of his jeans...

...and underneath, in huge capitol letters was written:

_**HAPPY BIRTHDAY!** _

(Eagerly, I opened the card and looked inside.)

_**And I'll Bet You Thought I Forgot!**_

That was all she had written...

...but it was enough.

More than enough.

And then, I realized how she had managed to do it. She still had her backpack with her when she went into the bathroom to wash up, and on her way back, she'd sneaked into my room.

Setting the card aside, I sat, looking down at my still-wrapped gift...

...breathless...

...eager to see what she'd bought me...

...but also wanting to savor the anticipation for as long as possible.

Finally, I couldn't wait another second...

...and so I nervously, clumsily, ripped the wrapping paper from the box...then opened the lid...

...and gasped, as I saw what she'd given me.

It was a a gorgeous cream colored, V-neck lambswool sweater...almost identical to the one I'd told her about, two months ago...

...the one that I'd loved so much...

...the one that had been destroyed by Tiffy Myers and her thugs...

...and it must have cost Sam a fortune...

...but where did she get the money for...oh, no!

Oh, God..._**no!**_

She's been skipping meals!

_Again!_

_That's_ why she still looks so thin!

Immediately making a mental note to start sending her more money every week, so she'll be able to cover bus fare and other necessities, as well as groceries, I lifted the sweater from the box and unfolded it.

She'd gotten the size right; and even though it was now the end of July and too warm to wear it just yet, I promised myself that I would, the instant fall arrived.

With a smile, I set the sweater aside...

...and then I froze again...

...completely stunned...

...because now I saw, for the first time, that there was something else in the box.

Sam had given me a second gift.

One that meant more to me than _one __thousand __sweaters_...

...and reaching down with a trembling right hand, I lifted it from the box.

It was a huge braid of long, blonde hair...

...tied neatly at both ends with royal blue ribbon...

...Sam's hair...

...but where had it come from? When I'd seen her tonight, her hair looked as voluminous as ever.

And then, I noticed a small folded note card, dangling from one end.

Breathless, I removed it and then opened it...

...to see the words:

_**Until you can play with the rest of it**_.

_**P.S. You are so loved.**_

And, almost immediately, her words became a blue blur...

...because of the tears that were flooding my eyes.

She remembered.

Sam had remembered my birthday...

...and she's been starving herself, day after day, just so she could give me a memorable gift...

...and she wrote that long, eloquently-articulate (especially for her) letter to Grandad...

...and she's doing hard physical labor on my behalf...

...every week...

...because that's how much she loves me...

...and, suddenly, I realized that life didn't seem quite so unbearable anymore...

...and, even though I didn't understand _**any**_ of what had transpired during the past four hours...

...and even though my head was spinning with the hundred+ questions I wanted to ask her in the morning...

...I gratefully slid the braid up under my pajama jacket...

...and then rolled over onto my stomach; and, within minutes I was sound asleep...

...with Sam's hair between my breasts.


	18. Chapter 18

Despite being worn out from the previous day's drama, I was up early...

...awakened abruptly by the sound of the front door closing decisively. Grandad was off on his morning walk...

...and, snatching my phone off the nightstand, I hastily dialed Sam's number.

She answered on the ninth ring.

"Argh! Caruls! Wh-whut time ish id?"

"7:23," I informed her, "..._and what the hell that?"_

Instead of answering my question, she groaned loudly, "Argh! 7:23? Call back later...and I promise I'll get up...just in time to catch the sunset!"

"Sam...wake up...now!" I demanded...

...and she slurred, sleepily and grumpily (and not at all convincingly), "Okay, okay! I'm awake...and what's so important that you're calling me at this ungodly hour?"

"Last night, that's what! What the hell was that?"

"You're welcome, Carls; glad you liked it," she mumbled, still sounding only semi-coherent...

...and, suddenly realizing what she thought I was saying, I gasped, "No! Th-that's not what I was referring to! Not at all! I-I'm sorry, honey...I loved your gifts...both of them! They're wonderful...honest! It's just...that...what I mean is...I...don't understand any of what happened while you were here last night."

There was a long pause on her end of the line...

...which was followed by a loud yawn...

...and then, still sounding groggy, she asked, "Do remember that gardening catalog your Grandad mentioned at dinner? The one I found in the garage last week?"

"Of course I do. What about it?"

"Well, he, uh, he left an envelope on top of it, with my name on it; and inside was a round-trip ticket to Yakima...and a bus schedule...and a note."

"A note? What did it say?" I demanded eagerly.

"Only that I was to be at_ Marioni's_ by 5:15, on Friday," she replied," and to ask for Brian, the manager when I got there, and to not say a word about it to you."

"That's it?" I asked, incredulous.

"That's it-oh, yeah, he also included his phone number, and instructions to call him if I had any trouble finding _Marioni's_."

"He didn't mention _anything _about my birthday in the note?" I asked, now equal parts confused, frustrated, angry, and disappointed.

"No," she answered, "he didn't, but I thought that's what the whole thing was going to be...a surprise party for you. Anyway, I got to Marioni's on time and found Brian, who told me that your grandad came the day before and ordered a pre-paid pizza; with instructions to make it the next day, as soon as he called the shop."

"Did Grandad call you while you were waiting for it to come out of the oven?" I asked.

"No, he didn't," she replied, "but that's when I called you. Anyway, after about thirty minutes Brian handed the pizza to me, and told me to deliver it to your address-ASAP-so I did."

"Okay," I replied, finally beginning to get the gist of what had happened, "so then you...hey, wait a minute! You just said that you knew, yesterday, that it was my birthday...so why didn't you even mention that while you were here?"

"Cupcake," she answered (with surprising patience), "I was going to wish you a 'Happy Birthday' right there at the front door, but when you grabbed me, I saw your grandad's face over your shoulder; and right away I could tell from his expression that something was very, very wrong; and, well, instinct took over from there."

"Oh. I see. So then he...wait! What were...I mean...when did you become such an expert on roses?"

"I didn't," she replied, "gardening totally bores me to death; but I was more than willing to do it, for your sake. I was pretty sure he'd left that catalog under my bus tickets for a reason...so I decided to tune into _Zoo Tube_ and study every video I could find on the subject, you know, just in case."

"Well, okay, but...Sartre, Sam? _SARTRE?"_

I clearly heard the smile in her voice as she asked me, "Oh, that. Have you ever hear of a site called _Cheet Sheet_?"

"No," I admitted.

"That doesn't surprise me; but, to make a long story short, the site is for people like me, who have better things to do with their time than study...I mean, how do you think I keep passing final exams, even though I sleep through most of our classes?"

"Uh...I thought you just copied my work," I answered.

(Unsurprisingly) sidestepping an admission, she instead declared, "Anyway, the site sums up even the most complicated academic subjects, in just a few short sentences."

"Okay...but how did you know he was going to make us watch _that_ particular show?" I asked.

"Process of elimination, Carls. After everything you've told me about what's happened between you and your grandad, _and_ that he blames me for a large part of it, it's obvious that he thinks I'm some kind of thug; so I decided to try to make the best impression possible while I was there."

"_And?"_

"And you told me that he's always making you watch awful TV shows_ and_ that he only has crappy basic cable; so I looked up the online Yakima TV guide, for the time slots between 7 and 9 P.M.; _and _I and figured, since you said he loves _The Historian Channel,_ that it was the most likely one. I didn't know for sure if we'd be watching it, but just to be on the safe side I looked up _Twentieth Century French Philosophy_ on _Cheet Sheet_; and it mentioned both Sartre and Existentialism and...Ta-Da! Instant expert!"

"Oh, I see...but still, Sam, it was my birthday!" I fumed. "I can't believe he'd torture me that way!"

"Well, as I mentioned, I wasn't sure what to expect when I got there," she repeated. "Still, I thought he had invited me there to celebrate; but as soon as I saw his face, I knew something was up."

"Yeah, something was up!" I snapped. "Haven't you been paying attention to all the stories I've been telling you? I'll tell you exactly what's up...he's being absolutely satanic to me...and he's loving every minute of it!"

There was a long pause...

...and then, she answered slowly, "No, Carls. He's not."

I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.

"After everything he's done to me, how can you even say that?" I said...too loudly.

"Because up 'til now I only had what you told me to go on," she replied, "but last night, I finally saw for myself and...and now I know exactly what's going on."

"Yeah, and so do I...he orchestrated the whole thing, brought you all the way down here and then bullied us both into silence, all because he loves to make me suffer!"

"No, Cupcake, she answered, "he didn't...and he doesn't."

"I can't believe what you're saying to m-I mean, come on, Sam!" I shouted. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"Yours, of course," she replied without hesitation, "but-"

"Well then," I continued, now highly indignant, "it should be glaringly obvious to you that he enjoys inflicting torture, and making my life a living hell!"

"That's what it sounded like at first," she admitted, "but now I've seen for myself whats going on between you two...but especially with him."

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"Try to see it from-" she began...

...and I lost it.

"From_ his _perspective?" I yelled. "See, I was right! You _are_ taking his side-"

"You know what, Carls?" she interjected suddenly, "Let's change the subject."

Immediately regretting how I'd been acting (and reacting), I stammered, "B-b-but-"

"No, Carls," she continued wearily, "from now on we'll just talk about safe, boring subjects...like the weather. So, are you expecting any rain down your way this wee-"

"No!" I shouted. "Look, I...I'm sorry! Please tell me what's going on with Grandad, and tell me _how you know!"_

After pausing to reconsider, she relented and said, "Well, okay...as for _how _I know, I've been on my own practically since I could walk; and one thing that I learned in a hurry is that the only way to survive, especially in the city-"

"I know," I interrupted, "the only way is to learn to act tough."

Her answer surprised me.

"No, Cupcake, actually that's second way. What's first is to learn to size people up-quickly and accurately."

"Well then," I replied, "if that's the case, then please tell me what's going on here...before I lose what's left of my mind!"

She exhaled audibly, then stated, "Okay. Do you ever feel like...well, like no one loves you?"

"Huh?" I answered, completely confused. "What kind of question is that?"

"A serious one...so _do you_, Carls?"

After thinking it over for a moment I answered, "Actually, no. Even after Mom and Grandmom died, there was always Spencer...and Dad...and now you; so, no, I guess I've never really had to think about it."

"Well, Carls, I have thought about it...for years...until...do you remember your 5th grade birthday party...and what happened between us?"

"Of course I remember. Spencer invited the entire class to our apartment for the party, and I got some fantastic gifts; but you didn't give me the one you'd brought until after everyone else had left...and you seemed ashamed that it was only a candy bar...but you were being way too hard on yourself! It was a gourmet candy bar, and I know it had cost you at least six bucks...and I knew, even back then, that you never had any money to feed yourself, let alone for gifts, so-"

"No, Carls," she said quietly. "I mean, what happened right after that."

I paused to think about it, then said, "Well, you um, you looked like you were about to cry...or to run...or maybe both, so I grabbed onto your shirt-with both hands-and said, 'None of the other gifts I got _even come close_ to the one that's standing right in front of me. You're the best gift of all, and I love you so much.'"

"And that's the first time in my life anyone has ever told me that they love me," she stated...

...and I almost dropped my phone.

"Wh-what?" I spluttered "I don't believe that!"

"It's true," she corrected me. "Until then, I felt no one loved me at all...just like your grandad does now."

"He doesn't feel that way!" I shot back hotly, taking her remark very, very personally.

"Cupcake, that's exactly how he feels," she insisted. "You told me that Spencer stopped calling him years ago, because they argue constantly."

"B-but Spencer _does _call him," I insisted.

"Yeah, _now_ he does, but that's only because he wants to check in on you."

"Well, yeah, but...but Grandad has a girlfriend," I countered.

"Who's an ugly drunk; who insults him constantly, so where's the love in that?" she replied.

"There's Mrs. Payne," I added quickly, still determined to be right.

"Carls, she didn't write that love letter, like you thought she did."

"Okay, that's true," I conceded, "but still, I'm sure she loves him as a friend, otherwise he wouldn't constantly be helping her out with-"

"Has she ever invited you two over for dinner...to show her appreciation?"

Well...no," I admitted.

"Has she ever baked him any 'thank you' cookies?"

"No."

"Has she ever knitted him a sweater?"

"No."

"Of course she hasn't," Sam concluded, "and it's because she's only using him."

"But he has friends," I protested, "...what about Rick?"

"Do the two of them ever do anything besides play golf together?" she asked. "I mean, do they ever go to each others' homes, or hang out together anywhere?"

"No. It's really more of a business relationship," I admitted.

"So, Carls, that leaves you. Only you. Before you went to Yakima, you used to call him at least once a month, just to see how he was doing, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"And now comes the hard part, Cupcake, but I have to say it; during that fight the two of you had, when you said, among other things, that you hate him, you broke his heart completely."

"But I've apologized for that!" I yelled. "Over and over and over...so why isn't he forgiving me?"

"Because he doesn't believe you. After all, actions speak louder than words."

"Well, wh-what about all my actions, helping out around here? Slaving to keep this house spotless, and cooking for him, and going along with all the mind-numbing activities he plans? Doesn't that count for anything?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"BUT _WHY?" _I insisted. "He keeps tormenting me-over and over-and, ever since we fought I've said and done everything I can to show him how much I regret what happened!"

There was a long pause, and then Sam answered slowly, "What he's doing is hurting him, too...every bit as much."

"Then WHY does he keep doing it?" I demanded.

"Because he's watching, Carls...watching and waiting."

"Waiting for _WHAT_?"

"He's waiting for you to...to snap from the pressure."

"Huh?"

"He's watching for you to crack...and say you hate him again," she stated flatly.

"He's not!

"Yes he is," she continued, "and all the while he's doing these things to you, he's hoping and praying that you won't...and that he's wrong about it, because if you _do _say it again, it would destroy him completely."

Finally, I got it.

"You mean he's...he's...testing me?"

"Yes."

"Sam, how can you know that?"

"Just by the way he looked last night...and the way he was acting. It told me everything."

"Well then...how much more of this _torture_ am I going to be subjected to before he believes that I really regret what I did, and that I_ didn't mean_ what I said?"

"That I don't know."

"Sam, this is so wrong...and so unfair!"

She sighed, then stated, "I...I just want you to know that I agree with you completely on this, Carls; it _was_ rotten of him to do that to you on your birthday, and all the rest of it, too, so please don't think I'm defending him."

"Well, okay, but how much _more?"_

"I...don't know," she repeated, adding, "you'll just have to give it time; but it's probably going to help the situation that I'll be working on his yard every weeken-"

"You mean you're still coming on Sunday?" I interrupted. I had forgotten all about it.

"Yes," she confirmed, "and every Sunday after that."

"For...how long?"

"For as long as it takes," she answered determinedly...

...and, suddenly, I had an idea.

"Look," I cut in eagerly, "last night when I was watching the news with Grandad, the weatherman said that it's supposed to get up into the mid-nineties on Sunday, so while you're here, I can...I'll bring you some iced tea! And then I'll get to see you!"

"No," she answered quickly. "If I get thirsty, I'll just drink from your garden hose."

"Yuck! Believe me, Sam, you don't want to! I did that once-"

"And?"

"And once was enough! All that comes out of it is nasty, disgusting, warm, brackish water!" I informed her.

"I don't mind," she replied.

"Well, I _do_ mind! You're going to be working your butt off for Grandad-for free-for God knows how many weeks, so I don't see how he could possibly refuse you a glass of-"

"Carls, don't you dare!" she cut me off.

"But...but it'll only be for a few minutes, and then I swear I'll go right back into the hous-"

"No!" she shouted. "I don't want you to! Don't even come out into the yard!"

"But-" was as far as I got...

...before she broke in, "Listen...no matter what happens while I'm there, you need to stay far away from me!

"But, S-"

"No!" she yelled. "Don't even _consider it_! The only thing that matters is for your grandad to see us deliberately avoiding each other..._at all times! _ That's the only way he's _ever_ gonna believe how sorry we are! So I want you to give me your solemn word-right now-that you won't even look out the windows while I'm here...okay?"

Even though I knew she was right, it still hurt badly, so I didn't answer...

...but, realizing how important this was, she wasn't about to let it go.

"Carls?"

Still highly upset, I sulked silently.

"Promise me?" she repeated.

No reply.

"Carls?"

More silence.

"_Carls!"_

"Okay, okay! I...I promise."

As usual, Grandad and I ate dinner without speaking, which was fine by me. I was pretty much accustomed to it by now, and besides, since it was Friday night my mind wasn't on conversation anyway...

...it was instead focused, laser-like, on Saturday morning, which was approaching all too rapidly...

...and so, instead of relishing the silence, I was on the edge of my seat...

...because I was dreading him announcing-at any moment-that I was going to be accompanying him to the country club tomorrow, for my first golf lesson...

...but much to my surprise (and relief), he didn't say a word on the subject the entire time we were at the table. But still, the idea continued to plague me...

...while I cleaned up the kitchen...

...while we sat through the evening's mandatory TV suckumentary _(Accountability and Performance in the Senior Civil Service)_...

...and long after I got into bed. After tossing and turning for nearly an hour, I realized that falling asleep was going to be impossible...

...until I knew for sure...

...and so, getting up quietly, I opened my bedroom door and sneaked down the hall into the living room...

...where I breathed a sigh of relief. Grandad is a creature of habit, and every Friday night he leaves his golf clubs by the front door if he's planning to play the next morning...

...and now they were-_thank God_-nowhere in sight!

And so, I returned to my bed, assured as I (finally) nodded off that, no matter what other inane activity he might have planned for the two of us tomorrow, it couldn't _possibly _be as horrible as wasting half a day of my life bored to death out on the golf course.

XXXXX

When I opened my eyes the following morning, my alarm clock was in my direct line of vision.

10:37 A.M.

And I was out of bed like a shot.

I couldn't believe it. Grandad never let me sleep in this late; he thinks it's a waste of valuable hours on this earth to lie around in bed when you could (and should) be doing something constructive...

...and, worried by his failure to wake me that something might have happened to him, I tore out of my bedroom and into the hallway...

...then quickly approaching Granddad's bedroom door, which was open a crack. I knocked, but there was no response, so I opened it the rest of the way and looked inside.

Empty.

My next stop was the kitchen, which was also empty, so I glanced out the back window, expecting to see him tending the garden (he wasn't), or yacking with Mrs. Payne over the back fence...

...but there was no sign of him. With a shrug, I turned away from the window and toward the fridge...

...where I found the following note, held in place with a magnet shaped like an orange wedge:

_Running errands; be back shortly. _

I smiled wryly. It figured that he'd put no return time on the note...God forbid I'd be able to celebrate his absence with no fear of his returning any second and spoiling my fun; but why, I wondered, didn't he take me with him, like he always did (not that I wanted him to)!

After a glass of cranberry juice and a bowl of cereal, I took a long, hot shower, intending to revel in his absence anyway by calling Sam as soon as I'd dressed; but, upon opening the bathroom door, I was surprised to see him descending the stairs from the top floor of the house, and, realizing that my bathrobe was hanging wide open in the front...

...revealing my very naked breasts...

...I hastily pulled it shut, but he seemed not to notice as he hurried past me and headed out the front door.

I went into my bedroom, shutting the door behind me and, as I dressed, I heard him ascend and descend the stairs four more times, but soon turned my attention from wondering what he was up to to how I was going to spend my morning. As mentioned earlier, Grandad would definitely object to me just hanging around all day, doing nothing, and so I needed to come up with a way to at least _look_ busy...

...but-due to my endless, daily efforts-the house was already immaculately clean. I wasn't about to ask him for suggestions(!), and so I continued to wrack my brain for ideas, eventually settling on a project.

I could polish the furniture.

When I finally emerged from my bedroom, Grandad was nowhere in sight. After stopping at the hall closet for Pledged and a dust cloth, I headed to the living room, where I found him seated on the couch, with his face buried in the morning paper.

"Uh, good morning," I said with as much conviction as I could dredge up.

Momentarily, he looked at me over the top of the _Yakima Morning Tribune _and nodded, then disappeared behind it again, while I walked over to the mantle and began spraying and wiping. I worked my way around the room in silence, not thinking about anything except making every surface as shiny as possible; and, after about twenty minutes, I'd completely circumvented the room, leaving only one piece of furniture left to do: The coffee table in its center. Walking over to where it (and Grandad) sat, I bent over and began polishing.

A few seconds later, Grandad cleared his throat meaningfully, and, straightening back up, I looked at him questioningly.

After a long moment spent staring back at me in silence he said, "I would have taken you with me this morning, but there wouldn't have been room for you in the car."

I had no idea what he meant by that, so I just answered, "It's...okay, I didn't need to buy anything...or to go anywhere."

Another stretch of silence followed; finally, Grandad broke it.

"I'm not going to church tomorrow," he announced...

...and my eyebrows shot up. This was completely unlike Grandad, and, having no idea what was going on I waited, still not speaking, for him to elaborate.

After another long pause, he took a deep breath and stated, "I've decided that...it's time for me to...to let go of Grandmom's things."

Unsure of the best way to respond to this, I merely nodded, actually feeling sorry for him, having to relive all those painful memories, as he sorted through her stuff...

...an entire attic's worth.

"It's going to be a huge project," he announced..

...while I nodded sympathetically...

"...so you'd better get started on it first thing tomorrow morning," he stated...

...and my jaw dropped.

"There's a truck coming from the _Second Chance_ charity first thing Wednesday morning, so you'll definitely need to be finished by then," he added.

I just stood there, stunned.

He couldn't possibly be serious!

That was at least a week-long job...

...and he expected _me_ to do it?

_Alone? _

_In Only Three Days?_

"That's why you don't have to go to church tomorrow, either," he continued. "As for me, I'm not going because Mrs. Lippincott has asked me to have brunch with her."

At this pronouncement, despite the awful project he'd just dumped on me, I wanted to laugh out loud.

Asked him to have brunch with her?

_Asked him?_

More likely, she _ordered_ him!

But enough about her, I thought grimly. I mean, it was both pathetic and tragic that she had her liver-spotted claws hooked into Grandad so tightly that she could even convince him to skip church...

...which, being a devout Christian, he never, ever does...

...but my situation was worse...far, far worse!

But, as horribly unfair as all of this was, I knew that I didn't dare argue...

...not after everything that had happened between Grandad and myself. Not after what he'd vowed to do if I defied him again...even one more time.

The sound of his voice snapped me out of my stunned state.

"I've left a lot of empty boxes at the top of the stairs for you," he announced, and then, without another word he stood up, turned on his heel, and walked through the kitchen and out into the back yard.

Sam was furious when I told her.

"What?" she yelled. "That hobknocker! He_ knows _thatI'm going to be there tomorrow! So why didn't he ask _me _to do it?"

"I don't kno-hey! That's it!" I exclaimed, suddenly inspired. "I'm sure I can convince him that I can't possibly finish such a huge project in only three days...and, since you're going to be coming here anyway, to work on the yard, I...I'll ask him if you can help me instead!"

"No!" she shouted. "That's absolutely the _worst_ idea you've _ever_ come up with!"

"Well...maybe you're right," I admitted. "He does get cranky when his lawn is unkempt, so you really should take care of that first, and _then _we_-" _

"Carls, don't you dare even suggest that to him!" she yelled. "I promised him I wouldn't try to see you _AT ALL _when I'm there!"

No amount of begging and pleading on my part convinced her to change her mind...

...and so I spent the rest of the day dreading the next one.

XXXXX

Sunday morning arrived all too soon and, entering the kitchen at 7 a.m.-as instructed-I found Grandad, with a coffee mug in one hand and the morning newspaper in the other.

Neither of us spoke.

After I'd finished a banana, two croissants, and a glass of milk, I sighed silently. There was no way to delay it...

...and absolutely no way out...

...and so, rising from my chair, I announced, "Well, I guess I'll get started."

Grandad set his paper down and turned in my direction, stating, "All right, here's what I want you to do. Anything that was hers, put it on the left side of the room. Anything of mine, put over on the right side. Anything you're unsure of, stack in the middle, and I'll look those items over later."

I nodded.

"Oh, and one other thing," he added, "Where's your phone?"

Unbelievable! He was heartlessly imprisoning me in attic AND sentencing me to at least three days of mind-numbing, hard labor_ AND_ cutting my only lifeline to the outside world?

Struggling to keep my voice as even as possible (easier said than done), I answered, "It's on my nightstand. Recharging."

After taking a long, hard look at my face he nodded, apparently convinced that I wasn't lying, then glanced at his watch, and said, "Good. Work until twelve, then take half an hour for lunch, and then work through the rest of the afternoon. You can stop at five, and pick up tomorrow where you left off...oh, and make sure you keep the attic door closed so dust doesn't filter downstairs...oh, and make sure you keep the noise down; Viol- er, I mean Mrs. Lippincott will be coming over for brunch shortly."

Not trusting myself to deliver a non-toxic answer, I merely nodded, and then headed-fuming-out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the attic.

After navigating my way around the multiple, tall piles of flattened boxes he'd left at the top of the landing, I crossed it and opened the attic door...

...and my heart plummeted.

It was worse-far, far worse-than I had remembered. The spacious attic, which comprised the entire top floor of the house, was crammed with an indescribable mish-mash of every conceivable kind of junk; some of it in boxes, but much of it piled indiscriminately in countless, untidy stacks, where Grandad had hastily thrown it several years ago, when he was hurriedly ridding the downstairs of every single reminder of Grandmom he could find. The only upside to this whole nightmare was that the room was at least air conditioned, because otherwise-it being the dead of summer-I'd positively roast up here.

Now way past furious, I kicked all the boxes through the doorway, into the attic, and closed the door behind me...

...soon realizing that acting enraged was a valuable waste of my limited energy. There was no way out of this predicament...

...which meant that I shouldn't (and couldn't) waste any time getting started...

...and so, picking up the nearest box, I opened it and looked inside...

...and screamed...

...because it contained what appeared a baby's severed head...

...its mouth gaping, and its lifeless, staring eyes opened wide...

_...with the rest of the rigid, naked corpse lying underneath it..._

...but then I realized, relieved, that this was the base of the ceramic Cupie doll lamp that I'd knocked off my nightstand and broken, when I was six...

...and that it had been up here for years because no one had ever bothered to repair it...

...and, hands shaking, I crossed the room and put it next to the door, in a spot that I thereby designated as the _'Junk'_ pile.

I spent the next hour tackling another twenty to thirty boxes...

...which contained an incredible assortment of crap (I won't bore you with details)...

...and, just as I was crossing the room and adding a box of musty old curtains to the junk pile..

...I heard the lawnmower start up.

With a smile, I glanced at my watch. Sam was here! And at nine a.m. sharp, no less! But still, whether punctual or not, it was achingly bittersweet to have her so close to me...

...yet so far away...

...and so, conveniently 'forgetting' my promise that I wouldn't peek ….

…I hurried across the room, over to the its only window and, after skillfully navigating my way around several tall piles of junk, I knelt down and looked out.

No Sam in sight. The view from here is not of the front yard, but of the side yard...

...so all I could see was our cement patio...

...and realizing that unless Sam decided to come over here and sweep the area I wouldn't be able to see her at all, I turned, with a sigh, back to my work.

After another half hour or so of pointless, backbreaking labor, I stopped to survey what I'd done thus far...

...immediately realizing, with a sinking heart, that I'd barely made a dent in the innumerable mountains of debris...certainly not a noticeable one.

Damn!

Grandad's gonna freak out! He's going to take one look and think that I've been goofing off up here all day! I thought, even though I've been working like a goddamned galley slave...

...being tortured all the while by the sound of the lawnmower, as it (and Sam) approached/retreated from the house! With an exasperated sigh, I turned back to my work...

...or, rather, _up_ to it...

...because I now found myself looking at the uppermost shelf of a tall, built-in oak bookcase, which I'd just finished emptying. Standing on tiptoe, I craned my neck, but, since it was well over six feet high, I couldn't see, from where I was standing, if there was anything on top of it...

...and I couldn't climb up to check because none of the nearby cardboard boxes would support my weight...

...and so, I did the only logical thing: I reached up to the top of the bookcase and swept my right hand along it. Seconds later, I was cursing loudly...

...as I knocked the large, unseen and uncapped jar over, sending a liberal shower of a pale yellow, wet, greasy substance cascading down on myself.

Fortunately, my head was tilted backward, so none of it landed directly in my face...

...splashing instead onto my chin and then down the front of my shirt.

Swearing again, I leaned down and picked up the quart-sized, wide-mouthed, clear plastic jar from the floor, where it had landed, wanting to see what I'd just dumped all over myself...but the label, if there had ever been one, was now gone.

I wasn't concerned so much about the T-shirt, which was an old one, but still I needed to clean up and change; and so, after adding the now-empty container to the ever-growing pile of trash, I opened the attic door and strained my ears...

...eager to avoid both Grandad _and_ a lecture on carelessness...

...but there was nothing but silence...

...which was puzzling. Shouldn't Mrs. Lippincott have been here by now? But then again, I mused, when I was downstairs I hadn't seen him cooking anything, so maybe they had gone out for brunch, rather than staying in. Still, wanting to err on the side of caution, I descended the stairs as quietly as possible...

...and then made a beeline for the laundry room.

Shutting the door behind me, I headed over to the utility sink in the corner, where I stripped my shirt off and cleaned the oil (or whatever it was) from my hands, chin, and chest. After throwing my shirt into the sink to soak and pulling a clean one from the dryer (I'd washed a load of laundry the night before), I decided that, as long as I was there, I might as well empty it out completely, so I loaded the rest of my clean clothes into a basket, walked out the door, and headed for my bedroom.

Halfway up the hall, I froze in my tracks.

Grandad's office door was open (as usual), and he was sitting at his desk (as usual), but, even though his eyes were looking down at the desktop, I clearly saw his face...

...and the expression on it can only be described as 'utterly destroyed.'

He seemed not to see me, so I took a tentative step forward and said, "Grandad?"

Raising his eyes to mine, he stared for a long moment, then shook his head and lowered his face into his hands...

...while I stood there...confused...completely unsure of what to say, and then, once again...

...I looked down at my watch.

Since he'd invited Mrs. Lippincott for brunch, she definitely should have been here by now.

What was going on?

Hurrying into my bedroom, and shutting the door behind me, I dropped the basket of laundry onto my bed, making a mental note to fold everything later, then headed back across the room; and then...

...just as I reached for my doorknob, it dawned on me...

...the reason that Mrs. L. hadn't come over...

...it was because she had broken up with Grandad!

After he'd put up with all that abuse from her, which he'd never taken from anyone before, and which was probably eating him up inside (but which he'd endured out of loneliness and desperation), she'd dealt the final, cruel blow and had dumped him; and judging from the expression on his face, she had done it in the nastiest way possible...breaking his heart completely!

That bitch!

I stood there for a moment, silent, trying to figure out what I should say. But, then again, what _could_ I say to him? What if I said the wrong thing and made the situation worse? What if I somehow (inadvertently) reminded him of what her ditching him really meant...and then, in his anguish and despair, he decided to make me move to Yakima _**permanently**_, because he didn't want to end up completely alone?

That thought was way too horrible to contemplate, and so I shoved it back into the far recesses of my mind and just stood there, hand on my doorknob, wracking my brain to determine what-if anything-I should say...

...but no insights presented themselves...

...but then again, I couldn't just walk past him and say _nothing_...

...and, realizing that I'd just have to wing it and hope the right words came to me, I quietly opened my bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway...

...to find his office door closed...

...which should have been a relief...but it wasn't.

He didn't want to talk...

...but suddenly, I needed to.

Desperately.

I needed to talk, not to him, but to_ Sam_, to get her objective take on this and to get her advice about it...

...because there was so much about this situation that could potentially go very, very, _**very**_ wrong...

...but then again, this morning Grandad had made it _very _clear that he didn't want me talking to her.

And then, even though I knew I shouldn't, I turned and looked back across my bedroom...

...over to my night stand.

Over at my phone...

...but fear kept me rooted to the spot. If he caught me talking to Sam, God only knows what might happen...

...but still, I couldn't wait on this. I needed to talk to her.

Now.

Nevertheless, I remained standing there...torn, leaning first toward one decision and then the other...until, after nearly ten minutes of deliberation, I crossed the room and, trembling, hid the cord in my nightstand drawer, and slid the phone into my back pocket...

...and then, heart hammering, I stepped back out into the hallway...

...stopping in front of Granddad's still-closed office door.

Not daring to breathe, I actually considered knocking...

...for a fraction of a second...

...until I heard him, on the other side, moan, "No...oh, God, no!"

This was followed by what I swear was a muffled sob...

...and, shaken, I backed away silently...

...and sneaked back upstairs...

...where I reached around to my back pocket...

...and pulled my phone out...

...but then, I hesitated again.

Bad idea.

_Incredibly bad idea._

And so, ignoring my overwhelming need to talk to Sam, I just shoved it back into my pocket and returned to work with a will...while listening to the tortuous drone of the lawn mower...

...but, less than fifteen minutes later, I couldn't take it anymore...

...I absolutely had to ask her advice; and so, I pulled my phone out again...

...but, just as I started to dial her number, I froze...

...because I heard footsteps ascending the stairs. I knew they were Granddad's because, ever since his knee surgery he's walked with a slight limp...

...and these footsteps definitely sounded uneven...

...and, heart in my throat, I shoved my phone back into my pocket.

He halted at top of the stairs, and then I heard him cross the landing...

...where he hesitated...

...while I stared, apprehensively, at the closed attic door...

...hoping with all my heart that when he opened it my expression wouldn't betray what I'd been about to do.

The silence stretched on, for nearly a minute...

...and then, to my confusion, I heard him descending the stairs.

He had wanted to talk to me, but had changed his mind. But...was that a good thing?

And suddenly, regardless of the risk, I had to talk to Sam. Still, what if he changed his mind, yet again, and came back up here and caught me? I stood there, wrestling with this dilemma for what seemed forever...

...until, completely confused and stressed, I gave in. I just couldn't take it anymore. I had to know what she thought about all of this...

...and what she thought I should do.

And so, even though I had been told not to...

...and well aware of what I was risking...

...I crossed the attic, walking over to the corner that was farthest from the door; and, dragging the rickety wooden armoire that was standing there away from the wall, I crouched down behind it and, hands shaking, I pulled my phone out and dialed Sam's number.

Seconds later, I heard the lawnmower stop.

She must have seen my name in her phone's display, and obviously wanting to save me from getting us both into trouble, she disconnected me at the third ring, without even answering.

But I wasn't about to give up so easily.

And so, I hit the redial key, over and over until, finally, she picked up on the sixth call.

"Carls!" she exclaimed, clearly exasperated, "What are you trying to do...you're going to get us-"

"Sam, where are you right now?"

"You know where I am; I'm outsi-"

"Yeah, I know that...but _where?_"

She hesitated for a moment, then answered, "Down at the far end of the yard, near the street, but-"

"Sam...I have to talk to you!"

"You can't! You know you can't! We're gonna get bust-"

"Sam! I have to! Right now!"

"Okay, okay!" she relented, "but just for a second...and why?"

"Something horrible just happened, while I was cleaning out the attic!"

"Like what?" she asked. "What did you find up there...a few dead bodies?"

"N-no! That's not why I'm calling! It's because Grandad is-"

"Is what? Is threatening to make you clean out the basement next?"

"No! I'm calling because he...he's highly upset!"

"So, what else is new?" she asked, in an infuriatingly-dismissive tone.

"No! Sam, listen to me! It's not like that at all! I just saw him sitting at his desk, and he...and he looks completely devastated. I-I think it's because...I think Mrs. Lippincott just broke up with him."

"HALLELUJ-" Sam started to sing...at the top of her lungs...but then dropped her voice back down to a whisper and added, "Oops! Sorry about that. Are you...sure, Carls?"

"Yes! I'm sure of it...because nothing else could possibly make him that upset! Sam, I'm really, really worried; he actually looked like he was about to bawl his eyes out. To make it worse, Mrs. Lippincott was supposed to come over for brunch, and I don't think she was here at all...which means that she must have broken up with him _**over the phone!**_ What a cowardly, rotten..."

"...drunken thing for her to do!" Sam finished my sentence.

"Anyway," I continued, "the reason I'm calling is because I have no idea how to handle this. Should I try to get him to talk abou-"

"No! Don't do it!" she exclaimed. That's a horrible idea! Do you really want him to use you as the nearest verbal punching bag, as a stand in for her?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Carls," she cut in, "now _you_ listen to _me_. People get dumped every day, and they deal with it. You're granddad is a grown man, and he'll eventually get over...still, I have to say this is the best news I've heard all-"

"Sam! Stop it! He's still my grandfath-

No, I didn't mean it like that! I meant that...he's lucky to be rid of that evil, old troll."

"No!" I insisted. "As awful as she was to him, he must have wanted female companionship badly, otherwise he would have broken up with her months ag-Sam, I'm really, really worried; I've never seen him like this!"

"Well," she answered, sounding confused, "...what happened, exactly?"

I told her.

"See?" she exclaimed, "I was right! He's going to be a lot better off without-"

"No, Sam, it may seem that way to you, but he looks utterly destroyed; and now...you're probably right...I mean, now he's gonna take his frustrations out on me worse than ever!"

"You don't know that for," she countered, trying-and failing-to reassure me. "Maybe he'll hole up in his room for a while and you won't have to put up wit-_CRAP! CRAP, CARLS! HE JUST WALKED OUT THE FRONT DOOR...AND HE'S LOOKING OVER HERE...RIGHT AT ME! AND HE LOOKS EXTREMELY-GOTTA G-"_

The line went dead...

...and at that moment, I swear my heart did too.

He had seen her! He had heard the mower's engine stop, had looked out his office window to find out why, and seen her talking to me...

...which she'd sworn in her letter to him that she'd never do...

...and, clearly, he was furious...

...and now Sam and I _BOTH_ were in for it!

He was already distraught over Mrs. L kicking him to the curb, and now that he'd caught Sam breaking her promise to him...

...and _me _deliberately disobeying_ and_ lying to him...

Jumping out from behind the armoire, I hurriedly shoved my phone back into my pocket and began pacing frantically. I couldn't hear anything up here and, since I couldn't see the front yard from the attic window, I had no absolutely no idea what was going on...

...and so I just continued pacing, trembling violently, with my eyes riveted to the closed attic door, waiting to hear his heavy footsteps on the stairs, before he opened it and ruined my life for the next five years at least.

But there was only silence...

...and I was growing more stressed by the minute...

...well aware that, since he hadn't come up here yet, he must really be letting Sam have it.

Finally, about ten minutes later, I heard the mower start again...

...but it did absolutely nothing to calm me down...

...because he hadn't come upstairs _at all_...

...which meant that he'd probably sent Sam packing, and was now finishing the lawn himself...

...planning to deal with me as soon as he'd put the mower away.

But then, I stopped pacing, realizing that freaking out wasn't going to solve anything, and I took a very deep breath, trying hard to get hold of myself.

After all, I didn't have any concrete evidence whatsoever to go on...and so, maybe I was just jumping to conclusions...

...about all of it.

Maybe Mrs. L. hadn't really broken up with him after all...

...and now feeling slightly reassured (and more than a little hopeful), I crossed the room and pressed my ear against the attic door, praying that I'd hear him come back inside...

...because, if he did, that would mean it was Sam who was cutting the lawn...

...which would mean that Grandad had let her off with only a warning...

...but, even though I was listening as hard as I could, aside from the steady drone of the mower I heard nothing...

...and, turning my back to the door, I leaned against, it, slid down to the floor and, despairing, buried my face in my hands...

...but soon removed them again...

...because I was in enough trouble already; and, on top of everything else, I was _really_ going to be in for it when this job wasn't completed by the three day deadline he'd insisted on.

Crap! How much time had I just wasted? Jumping to my feet, I started working with a will, filling box after box with junk; tearing around the attic as I sorted them into their respective piles...

...until, finally, exhaustion kicked fear's ass; and I had to stop and catch my breath...

...and, bent over, hands on knees, I looked down at my watch. Seven minutes until noon...

...but at that moment, food was the last thing on my mind...

...because, finally, the mower had stopped...

...which meant that he was probably waiting for me downstairs...

...where he'd sentence me to (at least) another five years of servitude...

...without my Sam...

...and so, I seriously considered skipping lunch. Even though it seemed pointless to hide up here like a coward, some part of me still wanted desperately to delay the inevitable for as long as possible and, turning back to my work, I lifted the nearest box.

Seconds later, I set it down again.

He had told me to break for lunch at twelve, and I'd only get into even more trouble if I disobeyed him _yet again_...

...for_ any_ reason...

...and besides, maybe things weren't as bad as I was imagining. Maybe I had totally jumped to conclusions...about the entire situation; maybe he had let Sam stay, and I just hadn't heard him come into the house...

...so maybe I _should_ go downstairs...

...since, while there I could at least sneak a glance out the front window and see if she was now pruning his hedges...

...so I decided to...

...because, despite my fears, not knowing what had happened was driving me crazy. And so, I walked back over to the attic door and opened it...

...and immediately saw the tray of food at my feet.

A large bowl of pasta salad topped with grilled chicken, and a tall glass of lemonade. Clearly, he intended for me to eat lunch up here; and at that moment I realized that I had been mistaken earlier. He had come upstairs to bring me lunch...

...not because he'd wanted to talk about Mrs. L., but then again that wasn't really surprising; Grandad's not the type to share his emotions.

I looked down at my grimy hands. There was no bathroom up here, but by bringing me this tray, wasn't he telling me not to come downstairs?

_Downstairs_.

Suddenly, fear kicked back in and I found myself-once again-welcoming any excuse to delay facing him...for as long as possible. Besides, he'd brought me a salad, which meant that I wouldn't need to pick food up with my hands anyway, so there was no real need to wash them. And so, I sat down on the floor, with my back against the wall, with the lunch tray balanced on my knees and, eager to get back to work, I ate as quickly as I could.

I spent the next four and a half hours trying not to think about what was in store for me downstairs as I processed a mind-numbing array of junk, including endless boxes of discarded books, Christmas decorations, a wobbly old coat tree, rusty coffee cans full of screws, porcelain figurines, tennis rackets, assorted kitchen items, faded art prints featuring Parisian street scenes, at least thirty decorative candles, Grandmom's sewing machine, abandoned tools...and way too many more items to list.

Finally, five o'clock arrived and, even though I was dusty and exhausted, I considered staying up here, working for the rest of the evening, and well into the night...

...not just because I was dreading going downstairs and facing Grandad...

...but because I'd still made little noticeable progress...

...and was now completely convinced that I'd never finish the job in three days...

...not when there was still half a life's worth of detritus left to move!

Still, he'd told me to stop at five, and I was already in trouble...

...and so, even though I realized that I was in for yet more trouble when he demanded a progress report...

...and, due to his failure to come upstairs earlier, I was now absolutely terrified...

…I opened the attic door anyway and slowly descended the stairs.

The office door was open now and, cringing, I looked inside.

Empty.

Next, I glanced up the hallway, into the living room, but there was no sign of him there either. I had no idea where might be, but wherever he was I didn't want him to catch me with my phone; so I headed to my bedroom, planning to put the phone back on my nightstand to recharge before heading to the bathroom for a much-needed cleanup. Laying a weary hand on my doorknob, I opened the bedroom door...

...and walked into the room...

...to see Sam...

...standing next to my bed...

...between my two open suitcases!

Dropping the stack of clothes she was holding, she opened her mouth to speak...

...but, with my heart in my throat, I crossed the room in three swift strides and grabbed both of her upper arms.

"Wh-what is this?" I gasped, as loudly as I dared. "What do you think you're doing?"

Not bothering to whisper, she began, "I...I was just-"

"Sam, lower your voice! Do you want him to hear? Now, get back outside! Right now! Before he sees you!" I hissed...

...but she shook her head. "Look, after what happened earlier-"

"Sam, _no!_ As fucked up as this whole situation is, if he finds you in here, trying to help me escape-"

"No, Cupcake...he's not going to-"

"The hell he isn't! Now get back outside! Right now!"

"I...can't!"

"You can...and you will! I have no idea what Grandad said to you outside, but now matter how horrible it was, me running away is only going to make things a hundred times wors-"

"Carls, he...he asked me to come in."

"What? Sam, you're lying! You know I'd _never_ agree to this, and now you're making up some lame ass-story, just so I'll go along with...I know you mean well, but-"

At that moment I stopped speaking abruptly; realizing that every second I delayed in getting her out of the house increased our odds of getting caught, exponentially...

...and so, I stopped wasting time on explanations and, tightening my grip on her arms, I hauled her toward the door...

...but, seconds later, she reached up, grabbed both of my shoulders, and then steered me-despite my protests-back over to the bed.

"Sam! Let me go! Why are you doing this?"

"Because, Carlotta Taylor Shay, you're going home!"

"Sam, are you crazy? I can't go there! He'll know that Bushwell Plaza would be the first place I'd run. Only hours later, the police will be dragging me right back here!"

"We're leaving in the-," she began...

...as I struggled to break free and to get her out of the house-by force if necessary-while threatening, "Samantha Joy Puckett, get back outside...right now...or I'll nev-"

Suddenly, I stopped speaking again...

...because I was looking over Sam's shoulder...

...over at the entrance to my bedroom...

...where Grandad was now standing...

...holding two sheets, a blanket, and a pillow.

Without a word, he looked directly at Sam, then jerked his head in the direction of the living room...

...and with a nod, she removed my hands from her arms, walked out the door, and followed him down the hall...

...while I stood there in shock...

...swearing to myself that I was hallucinating.

I was going home?

Tomorrow?

_And he was letting Sam stay the night?_

My mind struggled-and failed-to process this...

...and, convinced that I was either asleep or insane, I began slapping myself in the face...

...hard.

Sam must have heard it because, seconds later, she ran back into the room, skidding to a halt in front of me. Reaching over, she grabbed my wrists and yelled, "Stop that!"

"This isn't real!" I shouted. "This isn't real-this isn't real-this isn't re-"

"It _is _real, Cupcake, she answered. "You're really going home tomorrow. Now, finish packing your bags, while I help your grandad."

Still stunned, I watched her retreating back as she left the room once more.

Grandad had decided to move with me back to Seattle? Impossible! But then again, Sam was helping him pack his own bags...right now...so-somehow-it must be true!

Suddenly, it all began to make sense. Mrs. Lippincott had broken his heart so badly that he had decided to move out of his home...

...and into mine. He obviously wanted to get away from Yakima...to put distance between himself and her...

...kind of like those old movies, where jilted guys joined the French Foreign Legion, but...

...but...

...but what was I doing just standing here? I was going home...in less than twenty-four hours!

Turning to my suitcases, I began to pack like a maniac. Still, it took nearly twenty minutes to get everything folded and put away, but finally I'd finished and, stopping only to put on a clean T-shirt, I hurried to the bathroom where I washed my face and hands, and then I tore down the hall and into the kitchen...

...where Grandad was standing, with his head inside the fridge (well at least it wasn't in the oven(!)...

...and, glancing out the kitchen window, I saw Sam, wearing Grandad's long, blue-and-white striped chef's apron; with our long barbecue tongs in her right hand, hovering over the backyard grill. I didn't catch her eye because she was focused intently on whatever was in front of her which, judging by the aroma wafting in through the screen door, was probably some kind of steak.

Finally, Grandad straightened up...

...and the expression on his face was absolutely heartbreaking. I watched in silence as he closed the refrigerator door and set a vast array of salad ingredients on the counter by the sink.

As he turned the faucet on with a shaking hand, I walked over and, picking up a head of romaine lettuce, I told him, "I...I'll take care of this."

Seeming not to hear me, he just stood there, looking devastated, so I repeated, "I'll make the salad...okay?"

At this, he nodded and leaned with his back against the fridge, staring at the floor, while I busied myself over the sink, my mind spinning, not with confusion...

...but with fear. Mrs. L. had dumped him, but what if she ended up having second thoughts? What if she missed having a target for her endless abuse and made up with him again...wouldn't that cause him to change his mind and not leave town after all...forcing me to remain here? That thought was too horrible to contemplate, so I turned my attention to the items I was adding to the large wooden salad bowl in front of me...

...while praying fervently, over and over, that I was just being paranoid.

About 15 minutes later, the sound of someone coming up the back steps yanked me back to the present, and I looked up from my work to see Sam, her hands full, wrestling her way through the back door. After setting a large oval platter with three huge Porterhouse steaks and a heaping pile of marinated and grilled potato wedges on the table, she hung the apron on its hook by the refrigerator, mumbled, "Gonna wash up," to no one in particular, and then headed down the hallway; while I stood rooted to the spot, desperately wanting to follow her...

...not even to touch her, but to get answers.

She returned five minutes later, hands and face scrubbed, and then Grandad, after looking down at his own hands, headed for the bathroom himself...

...and the instant he was out of sight, I ran over to the the table, which Sam was currently setting.

"Sam!" I whispered frantically, "What's going on? What did he say to you this morning?"

She straightened up and looked directly into my eyes(!), then whispered back, "Not much. When he came out of the house and I had to hang up on you, he just stood there, at the bottom of the front steps, looking at me, for what seemed forever."

"Well, what did _you_ say?" I urged.

"What _could_ I say? I wasn't sure what he'd seen, or if he'd seen anything at all, so I just stayed at the other end of the yard, waiting for him to walk over and tell me off...but instead, after a few more minutes of non-stop staring, he got into his car and drove off."

"Did he look...upset?"

"Very."

"Mrs. Lippincott was supposed to be coming over for brunch...did she?"

"No, Cupcake I'm sure she didn't. I was in the front yard the whole time, so if she'd shown up I definitely would have seen her."

"See?" I interjected. "She did break up with him!"

"Anyway," Sam continued, "about two hours later he was back with two bags of groceries, just as I was finishing up the hedges. He got out of the car and just stood there, watching me again, while I put the clippers into the garage. He looked like he had something to say, but I had no idea what, so finally I walked over to him and asked if there was some other project he wanted done; but he just shook his head and said that you were going home tomorrow, but you didn't know it yet, and that I should start packing your stuff, and would I like to stay over tonight, then we can leave together in the morning. I said, 'Sure.'"

"Then what?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but at that moment we heard the bathroom door open...

...and I hurried over to the fridge for a bottle of Italian dressing, while Sam grabbed the iced tea pitcher and started pouring.

Grandad walked back into the kitchen.

Apparently unsure as to what to do next, Sam looked over at him for instructions, but he seemed not to see her, so she just sat down where she had on Friday night, and Grandad sank into the seat across from her...while I took my usual spot, at the far end of the table...

...and then, in complete silence, we started dinner.

For the record, Sam did a great job on the steaks and potatoes, but I'm not sure if Grandad realized it because, even though his eyes were on his plate, mentally he seemed to be on another planet entirely.

About halfway through, I looked over at him again...

...completely unsure of what was expected of me. Since neither he nor Sam had said a word so far, were she and I supposed to be ignoring each other, like last time?

He didn't meet my gaze, so I sneaked a nervous glance over at Sam...

...who was looking right back at me...

...wearing the most encouraging smile I'd ever seen. Still, the entire situation was was so much like Friday evening, when neither of us had spoken because she was trying to show Grandad how sorry she was that he and I had fallen out...

...so, could I talk to her now? After all, he hadn't forbidden it...

...but then again, _should_ I? Although I wanted to, badly, I was scared...

...not so much that he'd freak out_ that _we were talking...

...but at _what_ we were talking about. What could I possibly I say to Sam that wouldn't result in a reply that Grandad would find infuriating? I mean, he'd been highly upset all day, so had he really thought through his decision to leave Yakima carefully? What if Sam said something that he found offensive, and, suddenly coming to his senses, he realized that, by moving me back to Seattle I'd have (despite his continual presence) nearly unlimited access to her...which he'd surely find intolerable? I desperately wanted to avoid having him change his mind, which, as upset as he was, seemed entirely possible, yet I was dying to talk to Sam, and so I continued to sit there in silence, wracking my brain for a 'safe' question to ask her; immediately rejecting, 'So how's the family?' and, 'What have you been up to?'

I'd wrestled with the problem for nearly five minutes when, fortunately, Sam came to the rescue.

"Carls?" she said tentatively, "I called Spencer, a little over two weeks ago."

"Really?" I replied. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah, I did, and I was just wondering...when you talk to him, has he...uh...has he ever mentioned Chester Hamilton?"

I paused to think it over, then answered, "Um, no...I don't think so. Is that one of his supervisors?"

"No. You see..." she paused, seeming to be choosing her words very carefully (possibly sharing my apprehensions), then continued, "now that it's the beginning of senior year I...I've started thinking about my future, you know, career-wise. Anyway, you know how Mr. Rand, our art teacher says that I...that I show promise, if I'd only apply myself?"

"Yes."

She fiddled with her fork self-consciously for a long moment, then continued, "He...well, he got me thinking that maybe I...might be able to make a living, you know, as a commercial artist; so I asked Spencer about it."

I frowned.

"He's never mentioned any of that to me."

"No? He probably figured I'd tell you myself. Well anyway, one of the architects he's working with has a sister who's the director of The Chester Hamilton Art & Design School, in Philadelphia. Spencer's met her and she told him that they're always on the lookout for new talent...so I asked if I could borrow his camera and take pictures of some of the art class assignments I'd saved. He said I could, so I did, and sent them to Spencer in an email. He forwarded them to the school and they called me, a little over a week ago."

"What did they say?" I asked. "Was it supposed to be a phone interview?"

"No," she replied, "just an informal chat."

"Did they tell you you have a shot at getting accepted?"

Suddenly, she looked adorably, uncharacteristically shy and said, "Yeah, they, uh...they sent me a catalog and an application."

"Sam, that's wonderful! And Mr. Rand is right, by the way; you're very talented."

She dropped her eyes to her plate at my compliment (so cute), then asked, "So, I was wondering, Carls, when we get home, will you look it over after I fill it out...you know, to make sure it's all right?"

"Of course I will!" I replied warmly, then asked, "Have...have you thought about how you're going to pay for school?"

She nodded, hesitated for a moment, then looked back up at me and said, "Ms. Shelton, the director, told me not to count on a scholarship, because the competition is always fierce, but she also said that there's a ton of freelance graphic design work available in the Philly area, even for students, so it's possible-if I'm highly motivated-to work my way through school...as long as I can come up with the $15,000 initial payment."

Fifteen thousand dollars...oh, no, I thought, dismayed; she'll never get a student loan; there's no way her mom could ever qualify as her co-signer.

Sam seemed to sense my reservations because she added, "If I work part-time through senior year, and all next summer, I know I can come up with half of it..._I know it,_ Carls; and Spencer says he's being paid well for this Atlantic City job, and that, if I _can_ come up with half it will prove to him that I'm serious about this...and...and if so, then he'll lend me the other half, which I can pay it back to him, over five years, interest-free."

At this announcement, I whipped my head over in Grandad's direction...

...waiting for him to fling his fork onto the table and yell that there was no way a hooligan like Sam would ever honor_ any_ loan agreement...

...and that he was going to call Spencer immediately and forbid him to lend her even a dime...

...but he continued to sit there in silence, his eyes focused on his plate, seemingly oblivious to what was going on around him...

...which I took as being an incredibly good omen...

...and I turned back to my food with a huge smile, realizing that, since I'd be attending Princeton-which is only an hour away from Philadelphia-Sam and I would be able to spend every weekend together...

...or, better yet, if we both got cars we could find an apartment halfway between the two cities (to minimize our commutes) then we'd actually be able to live togeth-

The sound of Grandad's phone ringing snapped me out of my reverie, and the expression on his face when he looked at its display left no doubt in my mind who was calling him...

...it was V.L.L.!

Rising from the table, he hurried out of the kitchen and down the hallway, and the instant I heard the office door close behind him, I whispered to Sam, as loudly as I dared, "Sam, I'm so scared! What if she decides...do you think she's going to make up with him? And, if so, do you think he's going to make me stay here after al-Sam..._**NO!"**_

Instead of reassuring me that I was worrying about nothing...

...she was sliding silently out of her seat...

...and then, before I could grab her, she'd hurried past me and was sneaking down the hallway...

...and, horrified, I got out of my chair and followed...

...to find her standing directly in front of the closed office door!

Waving my hands in front of her face to get her attention (which was currently focused on what was happening behind it), I pointed up the hallway, rapidly and repeatedly, but she merely shook her head, put her finger to her lips, and pointed at the door...

...and, as terrified as I was that he'd open it any second and bust us...

...resulting in punishment(s) far too horrible to even contemplate...

...curiosity got the better of me and, leaning closer to the door, I listened in as well.

"No, Violet! No! Don't be like this! Look, I'm really sorry about what hap- and I'd make it up to you if only you'd let...but _why?_ _Why_, Violet? Come on, let's talk this ov-but, Violet, Carly's my granddaughter, how can you demand that I-"

_PANG!_

Crap! The doorbell!

As desperate as I was to know exactly how I figured in all of this, getting caught by Grandad was now an imminent probability, and so I grabbed a fistful of the back of Sam's shirt and quickly maneuvered her down the hallway, into the kitchen; and after steering her back into her chair I tore across the living room and flung the front door open.

Oh, great. Mrs. Payne.

"Hello, Carly is your grandfather in?"

"Uh, well..." I gasped, still breathless from my exertions...and from pure fear.

"Well? Well, what?" she answered impatiently. "Is he in or not?"

"Um, he's, uh, kind of in the middle of something right n-"

"Hello, Esther," Grandad replied...

...and I jumped a mile. I hadn't heard him come up behind me.

"Good evening, Evere- oh, Everett! Is everything all right?"

"Of course," Grandad replied gruffly, "why wouldn't it be?"

"It's just that you look so...well, so-"

"What can I do for you, Esther?" Grandad asked, cutting her off abruptly before she could begin interrogating him in earnest...

...while I hurried back to the kitchen table, where Sam was sitting, trying hard to look like she wasn't listening in...

...as Mrs. Payne stated, "It's my garbage disposal. It stopped working."

Sitting back down, I looked back over to the open front door and saw Grandad frown.

"Hm...did you check the switch box?"

"Yes," she said. "The first thing I did was go down to the basement and check. All the circuit breakers are on."

"Well then, have you tried the reset switch?" Grandad suggested.

"What? No where's that?"

"On the unit itself," he said.

"I looked under the sink, but I didn't see any type of switch," she replied.

"Then it might be on the bottom of the unit," he concluded. Come on, let's go have a look; I'll bet that's what the problem is. If not, I'll come back for my toolbox and-"

The rest of the conversation was inaudible as Grandad closed the door behind them and followed Mrs. Payne down the front steps...

...and, seconds later, Sam jumped up from her chair and tore into the living room.

"What are you doing?" I demanded. "He could be back any second!"

"Don't worry I'll make this fast," she called over her shoulder.

"You'll make what fas-oh," I said...

...as I saw her snatch the TV guide off the coffee table and start flipping through it frantically.

A minute later she was back in the kitchen, trying to access the Internet with her Pearphone.

"Mouthwash...mouthwash," she murmured.

"Mouthwash?" I asked. "Tonight's episode is about mouthwash?"

"Yeah," she answered distractedly, still focused on her phone, "the _Scopes_ company had a lawsuit against...well, it had something to do with monkeys."

I had to think about it for a minute

"Oh, you mean the _Scopes Monkey Trial_? Don't waste your time," I advised. "It had to do with the theory of evolution being taught in schools, which is a sore spot for Grandad, so he definitely won't want to watch that. Instead, you and I can be miserable together while we fake interest in the evening news."

"Sure," she answered agreeably, putting her phone away.

"But first, let's hurry through dinner so we can help Grandad finish his packing."

At this suggestion, she looked confused, then answered, "We don't need to."

"Oh. He's already finished? How many suitcases is he bringing?" I asked.

"Suitcases?"

"Yes, remember you said you were 'going to help him?'"

She shook her head "I was helping him with dinner, not with packing."

"Well then, let's hurry up so we can get started on it."

"Cupcake, I did offer to help him with it, before I got started on yours, but he said 'no'.

"You did?"

She nodded

"And he refused...because he's finished with it already," I guessed.

She shook her head, adding, "No, he said he doesn't need to pack, because he's not going to be staying with us" she replied...

...and I clapped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.

As soon as I was able to uncover it, I gasped, "Wh-what? Sam, are you saying what I think you're saying...that he's taking us home to Seattle...and leaving us there ? Alone?"

"I doubt that, Carls...what about Spencer?"

"What about him?" I asked.

"Well...didn't Spencer come home from Atlantic City?"

"No, of course not!" I declared. "He's not done with the project yet!"

She frowned.

"Are you sure? Maybe he just _told_ you that he isn't...and it's going to be a surprise."

"I'm absolutely sure, Sam! Two days ago, Spencer sent Grandad and me a live feed from the construction site. I saw the inside of the club for myself...and it's nowhere near done! In fact, Spencer said that management has been hounding the entire crew-nonstop-and that they're all freaking out, because they're afraid they won't be finished by the deadline!"

"When's the deadline?" she asked.

"In three weeks!"

"Wh-what? she asked, now clearly stunned, "Carls...are you...are you saying-"

"Yes! Sam, Grandad knows _all _of this...and, since he told you that he's not going to stay in Seattle, that means..."

"It means that he's going to let us stay there...just the two of us...all alone?" she gasped.

"YES!" I yelled...

...and suddenly...I wanted nothing more than to be in her arms...

...and she knew it. Throwing her fork down, she jumped out of her seat...

...as I hastily fumbled my way out of mine...

..."No, Esther, next time be sure to check to make sure there are no forks-or anything else-down inside it before you turn it on," Grandad's voice announced, right outside the front door...

...and Sam, looking incredibly disappointed, sank back down into her chair...

...while I, equally disappointed, hurried over to the fridge in search of dessert.

A minute later, Grandad had joined us at the table again...

...looking as miserable as ever...

...while I dished out three huge, celebratory bowls of chocolate chip ice cream.

During the rest of the meal, Sam and and I did our best to hide our elation (no need to give Grandad _any_ reason to rethink his decision), and after we'd finished, Sam turned to him.

"What time does the news come on, Mr. Shay?" she asked, with surprisingly-convincing eagerness.

To my surprise, he shook his head, then mumbled, "No TV..._bed_. Both of you be at the front door, ready to go, at five o'clock sharp."

That surprised me. Five a.m. was early, even by Grandad's standards, but I guessed that he wanted to be in Seattle before nine a.m. in order to avoid commuter traffic.

With an amused smile, I turned to Sam, expecting to see her face fall at the insanely early (especially for her) hour he'd suggested...

...but she merely smiled pleasantly and nodded...

...which made me want to laugh out loud.

But I didn't.

Realizing that he'd invited her to stay over_ after_ she'd come here this morning, which meant that she had no clean clothes with her, I walked to my bedroom, soon returning with a pair of boxers and a T-shirt.

"Here," I said, handing them to her, "go take a shower. Leave your dirty clothes in the bathroom and I'll put them in the washer, right after I clean up the kitchen."

For a moment I thought that she might actually offer to help me clean up the kitchen, which would have given me some time alone with her, since Grandad was now sitting-and brooding-on the couch, but she merely took the clothes from me and said, "Okay, Carls," and then headed down the hall...

...while I headed, disappointed, back into the kitchen.

Half an hour later, I'd washed the dishes and wiped the counters down and, as I returned from taking the garbage out, I looked through the kitchen archway, into the living room and saw that Grandad had moved over to the armchair, and Sam, clean and dressed for bed, was busily arranging sheets and blankets on the couch...

...and, despite wanting to stand there and watch her...

...from now until 5 a.m., I turned instead in the direction of the chair.

"Goodnight, Grandad."

He looked at me for a moment over the top of his paper, then nodded and disappeared behind it again.

About what I'd expected...

...and then, suddenly, I felt incredibly shy...

...and nervous...

...and, grabbing onto both sides of the kitchen doorway for support...

...I turned to her.

"G-goodnight, Sam."

Straightening up, she turned around and looked over at me.

"Goodnight, Carls," she replied...

...her eyes so full of hope...

...but, instead of crossing the room and throwing my arms around her...

...like I so desperately wanted to...

...I turned away instead, and hurried down the hall, and into the bathroom...

...where I grabbed her clothes, and then hurried into the laundry room...

...where I flung them into the washer, and then hurried into my bedroom...

...where I closed the door, and then leaned against it, with my head in my hands...

...both furious with myself for my cowardice _and_ praising myself for my restraint...

...wishing with all my heart that I had hugged and kissed her, but knowing that I didn't dare.

Not in front of Grandad.

Not because he'd mind an innocent hug and kiss (he was used to that sort of thing-all the Shay women have always been very affectionate)...but because I knew for a fact that, if I'd touched her, there's _no way_ I would have been able to stop at just a friendly hug and a kiss...

...and I absolutely could not have allowed that to happen...

...because if he'd witnessed what I would have ended up doing, it would have spelled disaster. There was no way that Grandad would _EVER_ accept a gay granddaughter; and so I was going to make sure he _never_ found out about Sam and me.

Raising my head from my hands, I crossed the room. Not bothering to shower or even to get undressed, I kicked my shoes off, got into bed, and lay there, staring at the ceiling.

I'd done the right thing...which was nothing.

After all, there was always tomorrow, back home at Bushwell Plaza, to be intimate with Sam...

...to hug her...and kiss her...and a whole lot more...

...and, reaching over to switch off the bedside lamp, I promised myself that, the instant the elevator door closed behind Grandad...

...and the door of apartment 8-C closed behind Sam and me...

...that's exactly what I was going to do.


	19. Chapter 19

Anticipation of my impending emancipation kept me awake for at least three more hours until, finally, I...well I really wouldn't call it falling asleep, it was more like passing out...

...but I awoke several hours later with a jolt, horrified...

...realizing that, overwhelmed by excitement and exhaustion, I'd forgotten to set my alarm! Whipping my head to the right, I glanced, frantically, over at my clock.

3:37 a.m...

...and then fell back against the pillow, relieved; I had just enough time to get myself-and Sam-ready. A minute later, I opened my bedroom door to complete silence, which continued as I walked down the hall and into the bathroom; but as I stepped into the shower, I noticed that the tub was wet...

...which meant that Grandad was already up and dressed.

Suddenly remembering that Sam's clothes still needed to be dried, I washed and toweled off as quickly as I could, dressed hastily, and then walked back out of my room, intending to wake her up before taking care of her laundry; but as I entered the living room...

...I found that, not only was Sam awake...

...she was _wide_ awake...

...and sitting on the couch, dressed in the same outfit she'd worn yesterday; with damp hair, an eager smile, and her backpack at her feet...

...100% ready to leave. Sam getting up-voluntarily, at such an ungodly hour, was completely unprecedented; and, after recovering from my astonishment, I walked toward her and asked, "You already put your clothes in the dryer?"

She looked up at me, puzzled.

"No, I thought you did, because when I woke up, I found them already dried and folded...right there," she answered, gesturing toward the coffee table.

"Did you hear Grandad at all?" I asked. "Is that what woke you?"

She shook her head.

"No, I woke up on my own; but I noticed that his bedroom door was closed when I went into the bathroom...and when I came out," she replied.

I stood there, straining my ears, but didn't hear anything, so I glanced at my watch, saying, "I'm surprised he's not out here by now; he usually has a really early breakfast when he's planning to be out of town for the day...well, in this case, for part of the day."

"Maybe he dried my clothes before he went to bed," Sam suggested, "and he's not awake yet."

I shook my head.

"I doubt that."

"He _might_ be, Carls," she replied. After what Mrs. L. put him through yesterday he was probably so wiped him out, both physically and emotionally, that he overslept."

I looked at my watch again, then stated, "I...don't think so, but then again, he should have been out here by now, so I guess it wouldn't hurt to check."

She nodded, and I turned in the direction of the hallway...

...but seconds later, I found myself turning back away from it...

...and looking down, once again, at Sam...

...who was still sitting there, looking up at me...

...her eyes saying a hundred different things...as clearly as if she'd spoken them aloud...

...and, suddenly, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to fall down beside her onto the couch, and hold her...

...while kissing every inch of her that I could reach...

_...until Grandad emerged from his bedroom and caught us..._

...and I shook my head vigorously to clear that scenario from it! Anyway, only a few hours from now, Sam and I would be kissing...

...and so much more...

...back in Seattle, back in my-no, in_ our_ home...

...and so, I willingly walked away from the couch-and from her-and headed down the hall to Grandad's bedroom...

...where I stood outside the closed door, listening intently.

Silence.

Maybe Sam was right; maybe, due to yesterday's ordeal, he_ hadn't_ woken up...

...but it was getting very near to 5 a.m., so I knocked.

No answer.

I knocked again.

Still, only silence, and now I was beginning to worry; what if something had...happened? Aside from his bum knee, Grandad was in pretty good physical shape, but what if Mrs. L. had devastated him so badly that he'd had a heart attack...or, I thought with a gasp...what if he...what if he...had...

I couldn't bring myself to finish that sentence, not even in my head...

...but, as horrible as that scenario might be, I realized that I needed to know...

...immediately...

...and, bracing myself for the worst, I grabbed onto the doorknob with a badly-shaking hand...

and, fully expecting to freak out at what I might find, I slowly swung the door open and then...

...holding my breath, I flipped the light switch on and looked inside.

Empty.

The room was completely empty.

His bed was-as always-neatly made, and the rectangular leather valet tray on his dresser (into which he places all his personal items when emptying his pockets every evening) was empty, too...

...and, suddenly, I got a horrible sense of foreboding.

"S-sam?" I called up the hall.

"Yeah?"

"He...he's not here; is he...in the kitchen?"

"The light's off in there, but I'll check anyway," she replied, and I heard her getting up off the couch.

"No, Carls, he's not there," she answered a minute later, joining me in the hall.

"I've...got a very bad feeling about this," I announced.

She smiled reassuringly, and said, "Come on, there has to be an explanation for-hey! I'll bet I know where he is! Didn't you say that you didn't finish the attic yesterday?"

"There's no way _anyone_ could have," I confirmed, "it's a week-long job, at least."

"Well there you go, Kid, he's upstairs right now, looking to see what you got done yesterday."

"Well..." I answered doubtfully.

"Wait here, I'll go check for you," she offered, heading quickly over to the staircase and then running it up, while I glanced nervously at my watch again.

Seconds later, I heard Sam's footsteps overhead, running all around the room, and I knew that she was searching for Grandad everywhere, behind every piece of furniture, behind every pile of junk.

Less than a minute later, she was standing beside me again.

"He's not up there, either...wait, I know! He's in the basement!" she exclaimed.

"Huh? What would he be doing down there?"

After contemplating the question for a long moment, she answered, "Uh, well, now that you're going home I'm sure he realizes that he's going to have to finish the attic himself...and he probably figures that, while he's at it, he might as well make a clean sweep of things and do the basement, too. How do you get downstairs?"

"Come on, I'll show you," I said, unconvinced; still, I led her out of the hallway, into the kitchen, and over to the basement door.

The basement, unlike the attic, was relatively uncluttered, and a fast glance around it confirmed what I already suspected: Grandad wasn't down here, either.

We ascended the stairs, and now I was more than a little worried. It was five minutes 'til five and Grandad, who's always infuriatingly-early for everything, was nowhere to be found. With Sam's help, I checked every other room, but upon finding them all to be empty, I was forced to conclude that he just wasn't in the house...and there was no way he could be in the yard, tending the garden, since it was still dark outside. Finally, walking out of the laundry room and shutting the door behind me, I turned to Sam.

"He's not here!"

"I see that," she replied.

"Sam, I'm really worried about-"

"It's okay, Carls."

No, it's not!" I lamented. "It's now two minutes past five!

"Come on," she said, laying a hand on my shoulder, "it's fine. I'm sure he'll be here any minute, so let's go get your bags."

Unbelieving, I followed her into the bedroom.

Sam extended the handles of both my suitcases, and then held one of them out to me.

"Here. Have you looked your stuff over, to make sure you didn't forget anything?"

Now way past anxious, I merely nodded.

With what I'm sure was meant to be a reassuring smile, she wheeled my other bag out of the bedroom and into the hall, while I followed.

I'd taken no more than three steps, when I stopped and checked my watch...yet again.

"It's five past five! He's _never_ late like this!"

She stopped walking and, turning around, she answered with a smile, "Look, I want to get on the road, too, but-"

"That's not what I meant...Sam, where _is_ he?"

Just then, she let go of my suitcase handle for a moment, and the bag tipped over. While bending down to retrieve it, she said, off-handedly, "I don't know...probably over at Mrs. L's house, on his knees, begging her to take him bac-"

She stopped speaking as, straightening back up, she looked over at me...

...immediately realizing, as she did, that she'd just said the worst possible thing...

...because one look at my face told her, with absolute certainty, that I was only seconds away from having a freak attack.

"Oh, God! Oh, my God! That's where he is!" I yelled.

"It's fine, Cupcake;" she replied, "I'm sure he'll be back any second."

"No, Sam! Don't you realize what's happening...and what's going to happen?"

"Yes," she answered confidently. He's going to come back, any minute now, and take us back home to Seat-"

"No!" I shouted. "He's over there, right now, at her place! Didn't you hear him mention my name while he was on the phone with her last night? They've been talking about me going back to Seattle...and now she's taking him back_ and_ she's talking him out of it! That's the reason he's not here!"

"But, Carls-"

"It's now seven past five, and he's never, ever late for anything! Him not being here on time proves that he's changed his mind! He's not going to take me home after all!" I wailed.

"Carls, calm down. I'm sure that's not true."

"It_ is_ true! Now that he's had a chance to think things over, he realizes that he made a hasty decision yesterday, and now she's...and now he's-"

"Carls, calm down!"

"I can't! He's going to keep me here...and send you away...and-"

"He won't. I know he won't," she said with conviction...

...but, far from convinced, I shouted, "Yes, he will! He's going to take me away from you again!"

"That's not going to hap-" she began.

"Sam! I don't want you to-don't ever leave me!" I sobbed, lunging forward and throwing my arms around her neck.

"Shh..." she whispered...

...while I held onto her as tightly as I could...

...blinking back hot tears...

...trying my hardest not to fall apart completely...

...and wishing that she'd pull me close to her...

...but, instead, I felt her hands on my shoulders.

Gently moving my body away from her own, she looked directly into my eyes and said, "Shh, calm down. I'm sure there's a logical reason why he's not here yet...wait! I know! He went to get gas!"

"T-this early?" I said, trying to regain control of my shaking body.

"Why not?" she asked. "We have a long trip ahead of us."

"But...w-why wouldn't he just take us with him...and then buy gas once we're already on the road?"

"W-well...I'm not really sure," she admitted.

"I'm so scared! He's going to-Sam, I don't want you to leave me agai-"

At that moment, Sam looked away from me...

...and seconds later, I knew why; because I, too, heard a car motor coming the up driveway.

Less than a minute later, I heard a car door slam...

...and Sam turned back to me, wearing a broad smile.

"See?" she said triumphantly, "I told you he went to get gas! He's probably a few minutes late because, since it's such a long way to Seattle, he asked them to check the oil, too," she concluded, forgetting my suitcase and running up the hallway.

Bending down, I grabbed both bags and, dragging them behind me, wheeled them up the hall, following her as quickly as I could.

Just as I entered the living room, Sam had reached the front door, and was eagerly flinging it open...

...and, as she did, I looked past her left shoulder...

...and saw, not Grandad standing at the top of the steps...

...but a tall, dark-haired, middle-aged man, slightly balding, slightly graying at the temples, neatly dressed in a white dress shirt and gray pants.

Looking directly at Sam, he asked, "Carly Shay?"

Seconds later, Sam recovered from her surprise and answered, "No, she's Carly" stepping aside, and gesturing over at me.

Dropping my bags, I ran forward and gasped, "Where's my Grandad? Did something h-h-happen to-"

"May I come in?" he asked.

Immediately and worriedly, I staggered backwards two steps, allowing him to cross the threshold; and, extending his right arm this man-whoever he was-handed me a sealed envelope...

...and right away I recognized Grandad's personal stationery...

...and, as I ripped it open, apprehensively, Sam glanced over my shoulder.

"What's that?"

"I d-don't know," I answered, unfolding the single sheet of cream-colored letterhead with shaking hands.

She moved closer still and, as she did, I felt her the right side of her chest press firmly against my back...

...and on any other occasion I'd have been thrilled at the sensation, but, seconds later, I was ignoring it...

...as I looked down at Grandad's neat, navy blue monogram...

...and at what was written beneath it.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I read, aloud:

_Unable to drive you today. Rick Bartholomew, of _Yakima Cab Service_, will be taking you, instead. Check his ID. _

I looked up to see Rick pulling his driver's license from his wallet.

He checked out.

"Wh-what's going on?" I asked him. "Is my grandad okay?"

"Yes," he answered simply.

"Well, where is he then?"

"He never mentioned his plans for today," Rick replied.

"Well, then, what about-"

Suddenly, I felt Sam's hand on my arm.

"Carls, don't you think we should head out now, and ask questions later?" she said...

...and, even though I was anxious to know what was had happened with Grandad, I nodded.

Rick leaned down and picked one of my suitcases up, then reached for the other.

"It's okay; I've got this one," Sam said, grabbing it quickly. With a nod, he turned and wheeled my bag out onto the front porch, with her right behind him...

...and, momentarily forgetting my concern over Grandad...

...because of how thrilled I was to be, at last, escaping from this dungeon of perpetual torture, I followed her eagerly.

As she was crossing the threshold, she looked back at me over her shoulder and whispered, "I hope this taxi doesn't reek of cigar smoke and sardines, the way my Uncle Dominic's does-oh my God!"

She'd come to a halt so suddenly that I slammed directly into her back, knocking the wind out of us both.

"Oh...my..._God_, Carls!" she repeated, breathlessly...

...while I, gasping for breath myself, and now standing half in-half out of the doorway, leaned to my right, looked over her shoulder, and froze...

...stunned speechless to see a long, midnight blue limousine sitting in the driveway.

"Is this...some kind of joke?" Sam asked me, then, without waiting for an answer, she rushed off the front porch and over to where it was parked.

Instead of answering (because I didn't have one), I ran up behind her...

...around to its back end, where Rick was now standing. He had loaded one bag into the trunk and, as he reached over to take my other one from Sam, I blurted out, "You're a...a _limo_ driver?"

At this outburst, he immediately looked down at his pants and open-collared shirt, then up at me, and there was an unmistakeable undercurrent of guilt in his voice as he answered, "I...I'm sorry. My jacket and tie are in the car...I'll put them on right away. It's just...it's such a hot day that-"

"No...it's fine," I answered quickly. "We don't mind...I just wasn't expecting...just make yourself comfortable."

He thanked me, then closed the trunk lid, walked around to the passenger side of the car, and opened the door...

...and Sam, without hesitation, scrambled inside.

Within seconds, I had, too, sinking deeply into the padded, tan leather upholstery as I sat down next to her.

A minute later, Rick was pulling away from the curb...

...but I'd already decided that I was _not_ going to be looking back; so instead, I turned to Sam, whispering, "I...I can't believe we're going home in a limo!"

"Yeah," she replied, equally disbelieving, "who knew that anyone would ever be able to actually_ find _a limo in this pathetic, one horse town!"

"That's not what I meant...and _stop that_!" I demanded, because she'd just stretched her legs out, resting her feet on the low table that was in front of us.

"But, it's so comfortable!" she protested.

I shot her _The Look_.

"Okay, okay...spoilsport!" she grumbled, setting them back down on the floor.

Less than a minute later, however, I knew that I'd been forgiven, because she turned back toward me...

...wearing her most disarming smile...the one that always makes me feel weak...

...and warm...

...and...

...and...

...and suddenly, the limo turned a corner. Looking away from Sam and out the window, I saw that we had turned onto Yakima's main shopping street...

...but seconds later, I was looking back at Sam...

...who was still smiling at me, in that incredible way...

...while I sat, staring back at her...

...elated that she was sitting right next to me...

...and that we were _finally_ going home...

...and that her left knee was now pressed up against my right one...

...and, at that moment, I realized that I wanted to hold her...so badly! To feel her entire body pressed up against mine...

...while also realizing that I hadn't even kissed her properly for...God, I forget how many weeks! And that's what I wanted to do, right then and there: to kiss her...

...and to have her kiss me back...while wrapping her arms around me, and holding me as close to her as she possibly can...

...and then, to pull back and smile at her as I whisper, "I love you, and I've missed you so much..."

...and then to push her down, ever-so-gently, onto her back...

...and to climb up onto the seat, and lie on top of her...

...and to continue kissing her, until neither one of us can wait another second...

...and then to pull back once more, and to look deeply into her eyes...

...while I balance myself on one hand, and my other one moves lower...

...and to hear her whisper, "Yes...oh, _please!_" as it comes to rest on top of her khaki shorts...

...and to unbutton-and then unzip them for her...

...and ease them slowly down, past her hips...

...and then, to pull her boxers down, too...

...all the way down to her knees...

...and then, to whisper how good she's about to feel...

...as I gently spread her legs apart...

...and to hear her gasp as I slide my hand down between them...

...and then upward...

...and...

...and...

_...and what the hell am I thinking? _This driver works for a limo company in Yakima! Surely he (like everyone else in this miniscule town) knows my grandad!

And if Grandad_ ever _found out that I had-

I couldn't even bring myself to finish that sentence.

Anyway, even at that young age I'd heard stories about celebrities going 'wild and crazy' in the back seats of limousines...

...I hadn't, however, heard that limos usually come equipped with privacy panels...

...and so, coming to my senses, I quickly shifted my gaze down at my feet, hoping that my eyes, which Sam had been looking into for the last few minutes, hadn't betrayed what I'd just been thinking abou-Oh, God!

Suddenly, I flinched sharply...

...because Sam had just reached over and taken my hand...

...quite possibly because she realized what I was thinking...

...and maybe even because she was thinking the same thing...

...but whether she was or not didn't matter...

...because, at that moment, as much as I didn't _want_ to, I knew what I_ had_ to do. And so, breathing and blushing hard, due to both fantasy and fear, I gave her hand a squeeze, and then released it...

...and then, heart sinking, I reluctantly-yet resignedly-slid off the seat, maneuvered my way around the table which was in the middle of the floor, and sat down on the seat in the opposite side of the limo...

...directly across from where Sam still sat...

...fearful that, if I hadn't, we'd almost certainly have done something that we'd eventually end up regretting.

Apprehensively, I raised my eyes to hers...

...to see her staring back at me, looking, not hurt, thank God, but puzzled...

...and realizing that I owed her an explanation, I leaned forward and whispered, "I'm sorry...it's just that he...he might know Grandad, and I don't ever want _him_ to find out about us..._ever_-but don't worry, we'll be home soon, and _then, _I promise you that we can...no that we _will_-"

"It's okay, Carls; I-"

What she meant to say, I never found out...

...because at that moment we both were distracted...

...by the sound of her stomach growling...loudly; and seconds later, her eyes left mine and began darting rapidly all around the back of the limo. After nearly a minute, she sighed audibly, and then, after sliding her way up to the front of the car, she leaned the entire top half of her body over the front seat and asked, "Hey, Rick, do you have anything to drink in here?"

I saw him smile at her, via the rearview mirror.

"Bit early for cocktails, don't you think?" he teased.

"No, what I meant is...don't limos sometimes have a stash of soda?" she replied.

"Sam," I cut in, "I'm really sorry; I should have grabbed juice-and some snacks-before we left the house this morning."

"No, I usually don't set the bar up this early, so there isn't any soda," Rick said, directing his answer to Sam, "but I can think of something even better."

"What?" she asked...

...and, taking his right hand off the wheel, Rick pointed silently through the front window...

...to a spot about a block away...

...and, seconds later, Sam broke into a wide smile...

...as the limo pulled over...

...stopping directly in front of_ Oliver's_, Yakima's only 24-hour restaurant, where one of the cashiers was standing at the curb...

...holding a huge shopping bag.

Rick hopped out of the car, took the bag from the lady, and then opened the door on Sam's side of the limo and leaned in.

"Here's your breakfast," he said, setting the bag on the table, then, looking over at me, he added "I'll have it set up for you in a couple of minutes."

I, however, was eager to get back on the road, and to put as many miles between myself and this awful town, as quickly as I could.

"That's okay; I'll take care of it mysel-oh, never mind," I said...

...because Sam was now ripping into the bag at lightning speed, pulling endless take-out containers from it.

"Yes! Oh, yes...Carls, check this out!" she exclaimed, while opening each one.

"Well then, I'll leave you ladies to it. Bon Apetit," Rick said, climbing out of the back seat and closing the door, then pulling back out into traffic...

...as I, now ravenously hungry myself, joined Sam in devouring our broccoli & cheddar omelets, bacon, home fries, scones, orange juice, and milk.

Sam tore through breakfast with her usual gusto...

...while I sat watching her, totally content, except for one thing: I had been sending her money for food...

...so why was she still so thin?

"Sam?"

Mouth full, she looked up at me questioningly...

...and I asked, "You have been eating lately...haven't you?"

Suddenly, her expression changed...

...from one of blissful elation to one of guilt...

...and, dropping her eyes to her plate, she mumbled, "Uh, I guess," in a very small voice...

...and, within seconds, I understood what had happened.

Not wanting to sound accusatory, I asked gently, "Have you been...I mean, I was just wondering-since you're still so-is it...is it...have you started saving for school?"

Looking back at me apprehensively (obviously expecting to be off), she nodded slowly.

"No, honey, it's fine!" I said, reading her mind, then asked, "How much do you have so far?"

Looking relieved that I wasn't upset with her, she answered, "Almost fifty bucks."

At this, I nodded-approvingly and reassuringly-but still, I was dismayed at this information...

...because it meant that she must have been subsisting on nothing but canned soup and cold cereal...and not frequently enough at that...

...but still, I smiled at her-warmly and encouragingly-because I now realized that this was no longer going to be a problem. Now that the two of us were together again, I'd make sure to get Sam right back on her regular feeding schedule...and to make sure that, as always, the refrigerator of our apartment was full at all times...so I'd have her weight back up in no time! Eager to get started on her recovery, I decided right then and there that, as soon as we got home, I'd order enough takeout to get us through the rest of the day (and night), and then, tomorrow morning, first thing...no, wait..._second _thing (hee-hee) we'd go grocery shopping...

...buying so much food that we'd need to take a taxi home.

Now that my strategy had been carefully laid out, I leaned back against my seat, satisfied, watching Sam, who was digging deeply in the bottom of the shopping bag, making sure she hadn't missed anything...

...which meant that she still was hungry, so I handed her the other half of my chocolate chip muffin. She nodded her thanks, devoured it, then sank back against her own seat in contentment.

"Sam? I was wondering...what do you think all this is about? Why didn't Grandad drive us home himself?" I asked.

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then answered, "Well, Cupcake, I have to admit that you may have been right. Maybe he really is over at the old bat's house."

"But, still...sending us home in a _limo?_" I persisted. "What do you make of_ that_?"

She was silent for a long moment.

"Uh, well...maybe he figured that we'd be less likely to be...molested by a limo company employee than by an independent taxi driver," she answered...

...while doing her best to stifle a long yawn.

I looked over at her sympathetically, asking, "Didn't you get much sleep last night?"

She shook her head.

"Hardly any...what about you?"

"Not much," I admitted, "I was way too busy thinking about getting the hell out of...well, anyway, why don't we both take a nap?"

"You don't mind?" she asked.

"Why should I?"

"Well, it seemed like...I thought you wanted to talk," she replied.

"It's okay," I assured her, "We both need sleep right now, and we're going to have lots of time to talk later. Besides, we have a long drive ahead of us, so it'll make the time go faster."

At this, she nodded in agreement...

...and I slid along my seat, up to the front of the car.

"Rick, Sam and I are going to take a nap...so will you please wake us up when we get there?"

"Of course," he answered, and I returned to where I'd been sitting, and said to Sam, "Roll your window down a bit; it still smells like breakfast back here."

She did and, after I'd done the same, I stretched out on my seat, while Sam lay down on hers...

...and, after getting comfortable, I looked across at her and smiled...

...but she didn't notice.

Her eyes were already closed...

...and still smiling, I closed mine, too, realizing, to my utter joy, as I did...

...that the next time she fell asleep, it would be in my arms.

After all that I'd been through the previous day-both physical and emotional-not to mention having been up for most of the night, I slept like a rock...losing all track of the passage of time...until, suddenly, I was awakened by the sound of loud screeching...

...and, without opening my eyes, I smiled. Aah, it's so good to be back in Seattle, with its crazy drivers...its fantastic restaurants...its...

...my reminiscing was cut short by even more screeching, now longer, more drawn out, and coming from more than one source, and I frowned. Rush-hour traffic must really be fierce, I surmised...

...but I was soon distracted from this thought...because I was sniffing the air...

...which smelled absolutely _nothing_ like Seattle's...

...and I opened my eyes quickly...

...to see Sam, sitting up, staring out the window, with her mouth hanging open.

"Carls! Carls, get up!" she urged.

Struggling into a seated position, I looked out my own window, and then gasped...

...as I saw the five or six seagulls hovering just outside it...

...and the Pacific ocean in the background...

...and the huge _**Welcome To Ocean Shores**_ sign that was posted on the side of the street, less than a block away...

...and I quickly slid up my seat toward the front of the limo.

"Rick! There's been a mistake!" I exclaimed. "We live in Seattle, not here!"

Not taking his eyes off the road, he fumbled around on the seat beside him, grabbed a clipboard, glanced at it quickly, and then shook his head, stating, "It says right here: Ordered by Mr. Everett Shay...2 passengers...from Yakima to Ocean Shores...with breakfast en route."

"But...but..." I managed to splutter.

"Didn't your grandad tell you anything about this, Carls?" Sam asked...

...and, whipping my around to face her, I exclaimed, "Of course not! I mean, I _did_ mention to him once that I'd love to come back here, but-"

"Well then," Sam replied, as I slid back to where I'd been sitting, "let's just find some place to stash your bags, and we'll enjoy the whole day here, and then we can catch a bus back home tonigh-"

Suddenly, I gasped, as another thought occurred to me...

...one that I hadn't considered before...

...and, turning to Rick again, I said, "Uh, I'm not sure I have enough money to pay you, so-"

Before I'd even finished the sentence, he pulled the limo over to the curb, and turned around in his seat to face me.

"You don't have enough money to pay me?" he asked, as his eyebrows shot up.

"I...I'm going to!" I interjected. "Honest! Sam and I aren't..._deadbeats_ or anything! It's just that...I was going to ask you to let us off in front of a bank...or some other place with an ATM...and then, right away, I_ promise _I'll-"

Rick held his hand up.

"That's not necessary," he replied. "I thought you knew...your fare's already paid for...in full...as is your accommodation."

"Wh-what do you mean...our accommodation?" I asked.

At this, Rick gestured out the passenger side window of the car...

...and, looking toward where he was pointing, I found myself too breathless to even gasp...

...as I noticed, for the first time, where we had stopped: Directly in front of the _Cambridge __Arms..._

...Ocean Shore's oldest, largest, and most opulent hotel!

I quickly turned back toward Rick, now with a hundred questions...

...the first of which was, "This is a joke, right?" but he was no longer sitting in the driver's seat...

...he was, instead, standing just outside my door, which he was now holding open for me.

Thoroughly dazed and confused, I stumbled out of the car...

...into the brilliant sunlight...

...and then, looking over to the other side, I saw Sam scrambling out of it...

...and, dazed, I staggered over to where she stood.

Rick leaned into the front of the car and began searching inside his jacket, which was lying on the front seat. Moments later, he emerged and handed me a sealed envelope, saying, "Here. Give this to the front desk clerk. I'll bring your bags in."

Certain that I was hallucinating, I just continued to stand there, envelope in hand, staring like an idiot until, finally, Sam grabbed my arm.

"Come on, Carls, let's go," she directed, dragging me in the direction of the entrance...

...then through its front doors...

...and up to the Check-In desk.

When it was our turn, I, still unable to process what was happening, mumbled a return 'Good morning' to the gentleman behind the counter, and handed him the envelope, as directed...

...then turned my attention to Sam, who was staring in slack-jawed delight around the nineteenth century hotel's massive, high-ceilinged, elegant lobby...

...all carved dark wood, brass, and class.

"Wow! Look at this place!" she gasped...

...and, nodding, I turned turned back to the clerk, who was staring at his computer screen and saying, "Ah yes...Miss Carly Shay and guest...five days and four nights."

"That's right," I heard Rick say, from somewhere behind me, and, stunned by this new revelation, I turned to face him...

...as he added, "I'll meet you right here Friday morning, at 9 a.m, and drive you both back to Seattle."

Still stupefied, I merely nodded.

"Here are your three bags," he added...

...and, suddenly, I (sort of) woke up.

"Three bags?" I asked. "I only brought two."

"Yes," Rick agreed, "I have your two right here...and your friend's bag as well."

At this, I looked over at Sam, who was looking at the floor.

"Uh, that's not mine," she said...

...and, following her line of vision, I watched as Rick knelt down, glanced at the luggage tag on the large, British tan leather suitcase, and then looked up at her.

"You _are _Sam Puckett?" he asked.

"Yes, I am but that's not my-"

"Hey! That's one of Grandad's suitcases!" I said, suddenly recognizing it.

"Mr. Shay dropped it off when he was making arrangements for your trip...and he said it belongs to you," Rick said, directing his comment to Sam.

Leaning over, I grabbed the tag and looked at it closely...

...and there was no mistaking Grandad's handwriting.

"I...don't know what this means," I said to her as I straightened back up, "but I guess...he wants you to have it."

Clearly as confused as I was, she didn't reply.

"Can I do anything else for you ladies?" Rick asked.

"No, thanks," I mumbled. "I think we have everyth-

Suddenly, Sam nudged me in the ribs.

"The tip, Carls!" she whispered.

Still in a daze, I shoved my handbag over at her, mumbling, "Take care of it for me?"

She did, and, after saying goodbye to Rick, I turned my attention to the smartly-uniformed bellman who was loading our suitcases onto his cart...

...and then leading us over to the elevator...

...and then down the hallway of the nineteenth floor...

...and then opening the door to our room...

...and _then,_ as he was setting our suitcases on the _king-sized_ bed...

...I _finally_ woke up...

...and squealed.

"Sam! Can you believe-"

"The tip, Carls," she interrupted...

...and, once again, I shoved my handbag in her direction.

As soon as the door closed behind us, I began tearing around the place in circles.

"Sam, look at the size of this room! And these floor-to-ceiling windows! And this ocean view! And that huge marble bathtub!"

"And_ NO_ mini bar full of snacks; what a ripoff!" Sam yelled at the floor.

Shoving our suitcases to one side, she sat down on the bed and I tumbled down beside her, gasping, "I can't believe this! Grandad...he...he's sent us on a nearly week-long-"

"I know, Carls!" she exclaimed. "It's so great!"

"I'm surprised he gave you one of his suitcases, though," I added. "That's part of a five-piece set of very expensive luggage."

She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then shrugged, stating, "Well, I guess he realized that I won't have anything to carry all the new clothes you're gonna buy-" Suddenly, she stopped speaking and looked over at me...

...apologetically...

...but I spoke up quickly, "Don't worry...you can't stay here a week without...of course I'm going to buy you some clothes!"

Turning her attention back to Grandad's...I mean to _her_ suitcase, Sam dragged it toward herself and unzipped it, saying, "This is really nice; it's roomy enough for a week's worth of clothes, and a whole lotta souveni-"

Suddenly, silence.

She had stopped speaking...

...and then, as I looked on in confusion, she reached inside the suitcase and pulled out a huge, padded, manila envelope.

"What's that?" I asked.

"No idea," she replied, turning it over and examining both sides, then adding, "There's nothing written on it, but it feels like there's something inside." Plunging her hand into it, she pulled out a long, smaller envelope...

...and, once again, I recognized Grandad's personal stationery.

"It...has my name on it," Sam said slowly.

"Well, open it!" I urged

With a nod, she worked her right index finger under the flap, ripped it from end to end, and then drew out a piece of letterhead that had been folded into thirds. As I watched, she opened it...and then gasped loudly...

...her eyes no longer on the paper itself...

...but on the shower of hundred-dollar bills that had just fallen in her lap.

"C-c-carls!" Was all she could say.

As for me, I was incapable of saying anything at all...

...but could only sit there, completely shocked, watching as she scooped the money up with trembling hands and then counted it...

...twice.

"F-f-fifteen hundred bucks! Carls, there's f-fifteen hundred bucks here!" she gasped.

"Impossible!" I declared, despite all the visual evidence to the contrary. Still, after counting it myself-twice-I was forced to admit that she was right.

Still completely stunned, I looked back over at Sam, who was now staring at the sheet of letterhead that the money had been wrapped in.

"What does it say?" I managed to get out...

...and, slowly, Sam turned it around until it was facing me...

...and I saw what he had written under his neat, navy blue monogram.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

I opened my mouth to speak, then promptly shut it again.

"What, Carls?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"Go ahead; what were you gonna say?" she persisted.

"Uh...I was just thinking that $1,500 is incredibly generous...even for Grandad...and especially for just mowing the lawn...especially...since...since he..."

"Since he hates my guts," Sam answered matter-of-factly, adding, "He...must have been mistaken; being so upset, he probably thought he was giving me fives...or maybe tens, instead of hundreds."

I'm shocked that he even gave you a dime, I thought, holding the money out to her...

...but she didn't notice that I had...

...because she had just picked up the large manila envelope again and was now looking at it closely.

"I think...it feels like there's something else in here," she announced...

...then promptly slid her hand back into it...

...and pulled out a second, identical, cream-colored envelope.

We both stared at it for a long moment.

"It's...this one's yours; it has your name on it," she said, handing it to me...

...and I took it from her, ripped it open with trembling hands, and pulled out two sheets of paper, which had been folded together...

...not Grandad's heavy, elegant stationery, but thinner, white paper.

Fax paper.

I turned to Sam, who looked every bit as mystified as I was...

...and, as I unfolded them, I noticed that the top page's original document was a newspaper clipping, which had been taped to a sheet of lined notebook paper and then faxed.

The headline showed that it was an article from the _Atlantic City Herald, _and it was dated from four days ago.

Sam scooted closer to me on the bed, then we both bent over the page and read:

_ARREST MADE IN STING OF CONDO ROBBERIES_

_Ventnor City police have arrested and charged a man in connection with a series of robberies committed in the apartment complex where he worked. Jeffrey Harris, 36, faces seven charges of robbery, committed at the Vassar Tower Condominiums, where he was, up until his arrest, employed as a front desk manager. _

_According to police, Harris, upon targeting each apartment, would first disconnect that floor's hallway security camera, and then pick the front door lock while the tenants were at work. Police speculate that the suspect managed to commit multiple robberies before being caught because, when victims complained to him that they had been robbed, he would immediately advise them not to call the police, citing various reasons why they shouldn't. _

_The last three victims refused to comply._

_A search warrant was obtained, and a search of Harris's apartment turned up an assortment of valuable items, stolen from his victims...including a number of expensive wristwatches, several pieces of gold-and-diamond jewelry, three laptop computers, four digital cameras, a locked fireproof box..._

Sam and I stopped reading, and looked up at each other...

...because the words "locked fireproof box" had been circled...by hand..before the page had been faxed.

"Spencer...got his box back," Sam announced...

...and then, we turned our attention back to the page...

…where Spencer had written at the bottom, in his unmistakeable scrawl:

_I haven't said anything to Carly; I know you'll want to tell her yourself._

And then, before even looking at the second piece of paper...

...I knew what I was going to find.

It was, like the first page, a fax; but in this case the original had been written on official U.S. Military letterhead...

...underneath which my father had written, in his neat, scholarly penmanship:

_14 April_

_Dear Dad,_

_I just heard the news about Spencer's new 'summer job', and I'm sure you're every bit as proud of him as I am. _

_Immediately after telling me, Spencer asked, since he's going to be in Atlantic City for three months, if Carly could spend the summer there, rather than with you. _

_At first I was somewhat hesitant; but he assures me that she'll be bringing her friend Sam Puckett along, and that they both will be working full-time. In addition, he's going to require that they call him every morning and afternoon, to check in, while he's at the construction site; and that both of them will be on a strict 10 pm curfew which, if they break even once, will result in him putting them on the first plane to Yakima. Also, he says that Carly will be calling you twice a week, to check in. _

_He also assures me that, before Carly and Sam leave Seattle, they will be made very, very aware of these rules _and_ the consequences of breaking them; and, in light of this information, I fully give my consent._

_Sorry to cut this short, but the sub is heading back out in less than an hour; I hope this letter finds you well._

_Hastily yours, _

_Steven_

Sam pointed to the top, right-hand corner of the page.

"Look at the time stamp...it was sent less than an hour before you found him in his office."

I nodded.

"That's why he let you leave, Carls," she continued, "not because Mrs. L. dumped him."

"I know," I agreed, "...and now he-"

I stopped speaking...

...suddenly both hurt _and_ furious that I was finding out this way.

"I can't believe this!" I yelled. "Why didn't he just_ tell_ me...to my face? Why was he too chicken to admit that he was wrong...or to apologize...or to drive us home himsel-no...wait! That's not it!"

I stopped speaking again, and then...

...I tried to figure it out...

...properly.

After considering the situation, again, I continued, "No...I-I've...I've seen him apologize to people before, so...so that's not it..."

I pressed my palms against my face, thinking hard. I had been wrong about so many things these past few weeks; and so, I was determined to get this one right.

Sam sat next to me, not speaking, while I reasoned it out, carefully assessing the situation from all directions...

...and, less than five minutes later, I had my answer.

Looking back up at Sam, I said, "Remember when you told me that Grandad was afraid that I meant what I said...you know, that I hate him...among other things?"

She nodded.

"Well," I continued, speaking slowly, deliberately, and thoughtfully, "now that he's found out I wasn't lying to him, he's convinced of it. He's convinced that, after forbidding me to go to A.C._ and_ keeping me away from you all summer_ and_ making my life a living hell, that I'll _never_ forgive him now...and that I'll _never_ speak to him again; and...and sending us on this trip is his way of letting me know that he understands..."

My voice trailed off.

"It does look that way, Carls," Sam agreed.

"He thinks that's the way things are now...and that it was completely his fault...but it wasn't!" I exclaimed suddenly. "What happened between us wasn't just because of him! It was just as much _my_ fault!"

"Well..." Sam answered, in a very non-commital way. It was obvious that she didn't fully agree.

"No!" I shouted. "It _was_ my fault, too! When Spencer told me he'd been robbed, I should have insisted that he call the police...right then and there...because then there would have at least been a copy of the police report to show Grandad...and, after reading it, _maybe_ he wouldn't have believed I was lying...but instead, I was so stupid that I flipped out on him...and said the most horrible things...and broke his...and then all of _this_ happened...and now, he thinks...he...thinks..."

My voice trailed off...

...as, finally, it hit me. I'd actually found the last piece of the puzzle...

...and, looking back over at Sam, I added, "I...I think that...this is his final test. He knows that if...he doesn't hear from me..."

I didn't have to think it over for long...

...and, seconds later, with no idea of what I was going to say to him...or how to say it...I was fumbling in my bag for my phone.

My hands shaking, I dialed his number.

He answered on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

"Grandad," I blurted out, "it's me! I'm so very-I don't know how to thank-there are so many things I want to say right now!"

"It's not necessary," he said, with a slight-but unmistakeable-catch in his voice, "none of it is...so, just...just enjoy your trip."

"I can't!" I wailed. "Not until...not until we...until I...Grandad, _please!_ I know you blame yourself, for everything that happened...but it was every bit as much my fault! I never should have said the things I did! I didn't mean it...not any of it! I don't hate you...I _couldn't!_ And I don't want things between us to be this way; I just want us to...to somehow_ fix _this! I won't be able to enjoy this trip...or anything else...until we do!"

"I didn't think you'd have anything at all to say to me," he answered, "...not anymore."

"How can you even say that? I just want you to know that I...but...I...I don't want to do it this way, not over the phone...so, can I see you when I get back from Ocean Shores? Please?"

"Are you...sure that's what you want?" he replied slowly.

"Yes! I _have_ to see you, because I need to-"

"No, Carly," he interrupted," _you're_ not the one who needs to-"

"Yes, I do!" I insisted. "Rick the limo driver said we'll be headed back to Seattle at 9 on Friday morning, which means I should be home around noon, so can I take a bus down to Yakima and meet you later that afternoon?"

"That's not necessary," he replied. "I'll come up to Seattle, if you're sure that's what you really want."

"I do! So please, _promise_ me that you'll-oh, wait, Sam wants to talk to you," I said, putting the phone into her outstretched hand.

"Mr. Shay," she said, "first of all, thank you for being so generous, but I...think you made a mistake, because...you uh, you gave me...what? Are you sure? Oh, I see." Suddenly, her eyebrows shot up. "Is everything...okay?" She was silent for nearly half a minute, then said, "Okay. You will? Well, thanks again..."

She handed the phone back to me and I clapped it to my ear.

"Grandad?"

"He hung up," she announced.

"What?" I gasped. "Why would he do that? And what did he say to you?"

"Uh, his exact words were, "I know exactly how much I gave you, and I have to go now, because I canceled brunch with Mrs. Lippincott yesterday, to make arrangements for your trip, and she's a little put out about it.'"

"He actually told you that?" I asked, incredulous.

"Yes."

"What did he say then...about why he gave you so much money?"

"He didn't say why," she answered.

"Well then, what _did_ he say?"

"He said, 'Tell Carly I'll be there when she gets home on Friday.' He started to say something else, but then I heard a car door slam and Mrs. L. saying, 'Well, it's about time you got here!' That's when he hung up."

"That's why she was so pissed at him?" I said. "For canceling brunch? Then I guess...I guess they didn't break up after all."

"It doesn't doesn't look like it," Sam agreed...

...the frustration and disgust on her face mirroring my own...

...but I soon stopped thinking about that...

...because, at that moment, it _finally_ hit me. My seemingly-endless nightmare was _now over_...

...and I could now put the past four months behind me...forever. I was now officially free of Yakima...

...and, in less than a week, Grandad and I were going to resolve what had happened between us...

...and now I was, thanks to him, in a spacious and opulent hotel room...

...sitting next to the girl I love...

...and we were completely alone!

And, suddenly-and fully-aware of all that it meant...

...I lunged forward and tackled Sam backwards onto the bed.

"It's over! This whole nightmare is over and everything is is okay now!" I shouted triumphantly, smiling at her expression of surprise, brought on by my sudden and unexpected attack.

Unable to say anything else, I fell down on top of her, becoming even more rapturously incapable of speech as I felt her arms wrap around my back...

...as I lay there in her embrace, immediately making a (very long) mental list of every single thing I was about to do to her...

...soon realizing, however, that the very first item on my itinerary was-unfortunately-a desperately needed trip to the bathroom.

Raising myself up on my elbows I looked down at her.

"Sam, I absolutely have to pee, right now, or I'm going to explode."

"Eww, gross!" she exclaimed, immediately trying to slide out from under me, but finding herself unable to, due to my imprisoning arms on either side of her.

"No! That's not what I meant!" I assured her. "I'm just gonna run to the bathroom...and I'll be right back...and until then, I forbid you to move from this spot...do you hear me?"

Not hanging around to hear her answer (my bladder wouldn't let me), I leaned down, planted a fast-yet passionate-kiss on her lips, and then I hopped off the bed and hurried toward the bathroom...

...but then, despite the very real risk of peeing my pants, I stopped as I passed the windows...

...finding myself riveted to the spot by the absolutely stunning view from up here on the nineteenth floor. Since it was late morning, the sun was already high in the sky...

...stretching its light lazily across the wide expanse of crystal blue ocean...

...while the breakers spilled, rhythmically, up onto the broad, sandy beach...

...whose opposite edge beckoned from the street below in a most inviting way...

...and then, looking back at _all that water_, I realized...

...that if I didn't pee right then and there...I was gonna pee right then and there! So, I ran at breakneck speed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

I made it just in time

After draining what felt like enough urine to fill an Olympic-size swimming pool, I hurried over to the sink, where I stood, washing my hands and staring out the bathroom window, back out over the beach. Due to this window's smaller size, the view from here wasn't quite as sweeping, but it was every bit as thrilling. The sun was still shining, I would soon fix my huge problem with Grandad, and now I was able, with his permission(!), to be with Sam again...

...just the two of us...

...for five whole days, with nothing to do but to enjoy ourselves...

...and each other.

Finally able, with no fear of anyone bursting in on us, to take her face between my hands...

...and to tell her how much I love her...

...and how, while we were apart, I was thinking about her constantly...

...and missing her terribly...

...crying almost every night, because I couldn't kiss her...

...and because I wanted-and needed-to be with her...so badly! And then, after I had told her all of this, to hold her, feeling her in my arms...and myself in hers...for the longest time...

...until, sensing that she wanted what I did, to pull her shoes off, and then my own...

...and then to push her gently back onto the bed...

...and to climb on top of her...

...gasping softly as I felt her pull my body down onto her own.

We'd spend the entire afternoon lying there, together...

...holding each other and reassuring each other...in low, loving voices...

...and there would be no fear, no apprehension, no rush. We'd take our time...

...and I'd make very sure she understood that I was okay with it now...

...with all of it...

...until, finally, I'd look down into her eyes...

...and nod...

...and allow her to turn me over onto my back ...

...and to pull my shirt up and off...

...and then to pull my shorts down and off ...

...before she removed my bra...leaving me lying under her, warm and weak, wearing only my panties...

...vulnerable, unable to move, due to my longing-no, my _aching_ for her.

And then, reaching up, I'd undress her, taking my time, until she, too, was nearly naked...

...and then, I'd pull her down on top of me and we'd just lie there, for hours on end, entangled in each others' arms, locked at the lips, lost in each other...

...until, finally, she'd slide her body sideways, off of mine and, breathing rapidly and shallowly, she'd slowly trail her hand down my stomach...

...until I, absolutely unable to wait another minute, would beg her to be with me...

...and _in_ me...

...because every inch of me was aching so badly...

...soon realizing that I didn't need to beg...

...because I'd feel her fingers sliding under the waistband of my panties...

...and then inching downward...

...farther and farther...

...their tips gently probing...

...and exploring...

...and...

...and

...and what the hell am I doing?

What's wrong with me? How long have I been standing here...daydreaming?

_When the real thing is waiting in the next room?_

I shook my head vigorously to clear it and then, looking down, I saw that the bar of soap had turned into a huge ball of mush in my hands.

Sam must be wondering what's taking me so long! I thought, hurriedly rinsing my hands and drying them, before turning and rushing toward the door...

...but then, halfway across the room, I stopped in my tracks...

...and, seconds later, I turned around and headed, deliberately, back to the sink...

...realizing that, after that incredibly delicious, incredibly greasy breakfast, my breath might be, uh, somewhat less than kissably fresh. After all, there had been sauteed onions in those home fries! And so, not wanting to risk offending Sam with possible 'death breath', I grabbed one the complimentary bottles of mint-flavored mouthwash from the vanity and gargled thoroughly...

...twice...

...swishing it around vigorously, making sure I hit every single crevice of my mouth.

Ahhh, yes. Much better.

I looked down at my watch. Sam hasn't come in here to check on me; so I'll bet she's fallen asleep, I thought with a smile, as I headed-now minty fresh and confident-back toward the bathroom door; planning to tiptoe over to the bed and to wake her up with at least a dozen strategically-planted kisses...

...before falling into her outstretched arms...

...and making the fantasy I'd just indulged in an absolute reality, I mused...

...gasping softly, as I felt a powerful, clenching sensation in my lower abdomen at the mere thought of it.

I stopped where I was standing and, hand on doorknob, I closed my eyes...picturing it again...

...while feeling another contraction, just as strong as the first...

...which was soon followed by several more...

...as I pictured Sam's naked body pressed against my own, for the first time...

...while I lay under her, unable to move, utterly paralyzed by my overwhelmingly-painful need for her...

...crippled almost to tears by the agony of it...

...and crying anyway, knowing that the release I so desperately needed was now only minutes away, as she reached down and slowly spread my legs apart...

...and how it would feel when she touched me..._there_...for the first time...and how incredible it would be when, eventually, she released me, forever, from this cruel prison of incessant deprivation.

At that moment, I shifted where I stood, as another thrilling contraction rippled through me, and suddenly aware that my vulva was becoming very, very swollen, as its nerve endings became increasingly engorged...

...and I imagined how much _more_ sensitive it was going to be, in just a short while, when Sam's gently probing fingers finally found it.

I stood there, picturing all of it, while gasping softly at the sharp, irregular contractions that were taking place, with increasing frequency, in the lowest part of my stomach...

...and also between my legs...

...as I realized what was about to happen...

...with her...

...and less than a minute later, I found myself blushing...

...realizing that, due to my extreme arousal, I had become so wet that I was beginning to leak into my panties.

Now breathing shallowly and rapidly, I opened my eyes again.

It was time.

It was time for her to release me...

...to heal me from the seemingly endless torture I'd endured for the past four months.

I was now going to give myself to Sam...

...not just physically, but completely.

I took a deeper, yet jagged breath...

...and then, bursting with anticipation, and absolutely aching for release, I opened the bedroom door and looked longingly across the room...

...to see Sam...

...not where I'd left her, lying on her back and ready to be loved...

...but sitting on the edge of the bed, with her back to me and her face in her hands.

Walking over quickly, I stopped in front of her, asking, "Hey, are you...is everything okay?"

Not looking up at me, she shook her head.

"Are you feeling sick?"

No response.

And, feeling a jolt of apprehension shoot through me, I took a step forward and asked, "What is it?"

Without looking up at me, she shook her head again...

...and, sure that I'd figured it out, I said, "Look, Sam, if it's about what happened between Grandad and me...everything is okay now...well, not _yet_...but it will be by Friday evening."

She didn't answer, so I added, quickly, "I know you didn't hear his side of the conversation...but he wants to make things up with me...just as much as I do! So, when we get home on Friday, right after...well, I know you'll want to thank him for the money...and then I'm going to ask you to head over to your own place, just for one afternoon, so I can have some time alone with him, just the two of us. And then, he and I will talk over what happened...all of it...face to face...like two mature adults; and we'll both apologize, and forgive each other...and then everything will be okay, see?"

Instead of agreeing, she shook her head again...even more vigorously.

"Of _course _everything will be okay!" I replied, now beginning to panic. "If it wasn't, he wouldn't have sent me here...with you...or given you that very generous gift...which I _still_ don't understand _at all_...but at least it shows that he doesn't, uh, dislike you anymore."

No answer.

Suddenly, another possible reason for her distress occurred to me, and, laying a hand on her shoulder, I said, "Sam? Is it about what I said in the limo? Are you...are you upset that I'm not going to tell him about us...you know, that you and I are..._together?_ Is that it?"

She shook her head.

"No? Then what else could possibly...then everything is okay now, see?" I insisted, fighting hard against the rapidly-mounting panic that was now threatening to overwhelm me.

At this, she finally raised her head.

"No, Carls!" she blurted out, looking near tears. It's _not _okay!"

"Sam! What's wrong? Everything was...fine, just a few minutes ago! What just happened to make you so...what _is_ it?" I asked, now flat-out scared at the way she was acting...

...because, after failing to guess what was upsetting her, twice, it now seemed that there could be only one other reason.

One that would kill me.

"Of course its okay!" I repeated, trying-to reassure her...and myself.

"No, it's not...it's never gonna be okay again!" she wailed.

Now literally shaking with fear, I replied, "I...don't know what you mean by th-"

"Don't you see?" she answered, "You've been blaming yourself for everything that's happened up 'til now; but it's not _your_ fault...not yours...not your grandad's...but _mine!_"

"No, it's not...and that's all going to be fixed," I answered earnestly, "by the end of this wee-"

"No!" she interrupted, "That's not what I mean! It's never going to be okay again, because...because we both still have this horrible curse hanging over us! And it's all my fault! I've ruined both of our lives, forever, because I was so incredibly stup-"

"Stop that!" I shouted, now very aware of why she was so upset. "You had no way of knowing what was going to happen when you picked up that shrunken head; and...even though you and I have...well, have had some...problems...now they're going to be-"

"Some problems?" she asked, incredulously. _"Some problems?_ You know as well as I do that they were only the beginning of our problems...the first of many more!"

"You can't know that!" I argued

"I do know it!" she shouted. "We're cursed...both of us...for the rest of our lives! All because of me being so stup-..."

"Stop saying that! Sam, what just happened while I was in the bathroom? I don't understand why you're suddenly so...I mean, all of those things are in the past now!"

"And...when they happen again?" she demanded.

"They won't!" I insisted. "They're in the past!"

"But something _else_ will...something just as bad...or even worse!" she shouted.

"It...it won't!" I repeated...

...despite now realizing-deep down-that she was absolutely right. We both _were_ cursed...

...and what we'd already been through was, doubtlessly, only the beginning...

...but I wasn't about to admit it.

"It...won't," I repeated lamely.

"Oh, yes it will!" she yelled. "How many times have you and I made huge mistakes, all because we wished for something...and half the time we didn't even realize that we _were_ wish-"

"It's going to be okay...from now on, we'll just be really, really careful," I replied, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"No it won't!" she said, inadvertently shaking it off as she jumped up off the bed.

Immediately, I got to my feet, grabbed her, and turned her around to face me...

...immediately wrapping my arms around her, as she leaned forward and buried her face in my shoulder. Her whole body was shaking...but at least she wasn't crying.

"It's going to be okay, now," I said in a low, calm voice. "All of it."

She shook her head.

I pulled her as close to me as I could, saying, "Sam, listen to me. We're in this wonderful place, just the two of us, all alone, so let's enjoy our vacation...okay? Okay, honey? Everything is going to be all right now."

At this, she shook her head violently, untangled herself from my arms, and then walked across the room, where she stood with her back to me; and, leaning her forehead against the far wall, she said, in the most heart-breaking tone of voice I've ever heard from her, "Carls, I'm so s-sorry! I'd give anything to be able to take back what happened...but I _can't!"_

And then, as I stood there, despairing, with absolutely no idea how to console her, I opened my fat mouth and, without thinking said, "I do, too...but it was just as much_ my_ fault...and, not even for my sake but for_ yours_, I wish that we were rid of this curs-"

Before I'd even finished the sentence, she spun around, clearly horrified...

...just as I clapped my hand over my mouth...

...but it was too late...

...and in three swift strides, she had crossed the room.

"What the hell did you just do?" she shouted. "What the hell...you said that we were going to be _careful!_"

"I...I...well, Mr. Oswell said that unselfish wishes were the ones that are most often granted," I replied casually, trying to play it off like I'd just wished deliberately.

I doubt that she bought it, because she yelled, "Don't you remember that I was being unselfish when I wished for Spencer to get a Mercedes...and look what happened!"

Thinking quickly, I replied, "What happened is that Spencer got a fantastic new job, probably the first one of many, and-"

"Oh, God! Oh, God, we're so screwed!" she moaned. "Carls...I can't believe what you...what you've just-"

Suddenly, she stopped speaking. I have no idea if it was because she didn't want to make me feel worse than I already did (if that were possible(!), or if she was shocked speechless, from all of the horrible potential scenarios that were now doubtlessly thundering through her mind.

She sank back down onto the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands...

...while I stood there, kicking myself-over and over-for not thinking...

_**...again...**_

...knowing that, because I had just been so incredibly stupid, we were soon going to be punished...severely.

Both of us.

I forcibly pushed this realization out of my mind. It didn't mat-well, it _did..._but what was important right now was that Sam and I were back together...

...which meant that, no matter what horrible thing(s) were now in store for us, we'd be able to face them _and_ handle them...together. But then, my thoughts turned back to stupidity...

...not Sam's, but my own...

...and I silently berated myself for having wasted so much time in the bathroom, daydreaming...

...leaving her lying here, all alone, with all that time to reflect on (and become highly upset at) everything that we'd just been through.

With a long, shaky sigh, I turned back to Sam...

...whose vacation-and possibly whose life-I'd just ruined...

...and, after spending several minutes thinking the entire thing through, I finally managed to come to one solid conclusion.

We both needed release.

Right now.

Desperately.

And there was only one thing that could possibly relieve all of this unbearable angst...

...and it involved two girls...

...and no clothes.

But, as badly as my own body was screaming for orgasm, I was well aware that I'd just hurt her...

...profoundly...

...and so, despite my own, overwhelming needs, I decided that I was going to let her be 'first.'

Taking a deep breath, I reached down and lay my hands on her shoulders.

"Listen," I said, "it's been almost six hours since we left Grandad's house, so I know you have to pee. Go take care of that, and then wash your face and hands; I know you'll feel better, and then, when you come back out here, I'll bet I can dream up any number of ways to make you forget everything that just happened."

Eyes on the floor, she didn't respond, so I gently slid my hands up under her arms and pulled her-unresisting-to her feet, then looked into her face saying, "Come on. Don't worry; everything is going to work-"

Without waiting to hear the rest, she sadly turned away from me and walked toward the bathroom ...

...while I-now determined to make us _both_ forget what had just happened-kicked my shoes off and fell backward onto the bed.

Ahhh! What an excellent mattress! Perfect for lounging...and for sleeping...

...and for a whole lot more!

I sprawled out lazily in all directions, sinking into it, while shivering at the realization that, in just a few short minutes, Sam would be in my arms...right here...and I would make sure that I corrected, repeatedly, what I'd just done to her.

And, I thought, since after what I just did, she needs 'help' right now...even worse than I do...

...I'll focus only on her needs...

...as I hold her in my arms...

...pulling her so close to me...

...while running one hand through her hair and telling her how much I love her...

...and how sorry I am...not only for what just happened...

...but for making her wait for this...for such a long time...

...much, much longer than she should have had to...

...and that, right now, I'm going to make it up to her...

...over and over.

Seconds later, she'll raise her head and look down at me...

...her eyes so full of desperate longing and hope...

...which will then turn to surprise...

...as I gently turn her over onto her back. And then, I'll smile down at her, in the most reassuring way, and she'll nod and pull my body down onto hers...

...holding onto me so tightly...

...while I, once again, run my hands, softly, caressingly, through her hair...

...and down along her arms...

...until, finally, I'll hear the change in her breathing...

...and in her heartbeat...

...and, knowing that she's ready, and that she wants me to do what I want to do...

...every bit as badly as I want to do it...

...I'll whisper in her ear, "It's time."

And then, as she lay there under me, trembling...

_...aching..._

...I'll undress her slowly...

...while kissing her, non-stop, until, unable to wait another minute, I'll trail my hand down her lower abdomen...

...but will, seconds later, find myself lying on my back, unresisting, as she undresses me. And then, oh, God...I so desperately need to feel her hands on my body...right now...that I don't know if I'll be able to-

The sound of the bathroom door opening forced me back to the present; and, turning my head to the left on my pillow, I saw Sam, still looking as upset as ever, walking back into the bedroom.

I smiled at her from where I lay, saying, "Come over here, honey, and we'll-no wait! Before you do, go look out the windows. That view is so incredibly beautiful that I guarantee it'll cheer you up!"

I expected her to ignore me, or to say that she wasn't in the mood...

but instead she nodded sadly, turned obediently in that direction, and stepped over to the window farthest from the bed, where she stood, looking out.

After nearly a full minute of silence, I asked, "Well, what do you see?"

She stared for another long moment, then shrugged and replied, "Um, it's a really nice day...I guess."

"Yes," I agreed, "it _is_ really nice...and what else?"

"The ocean...looks beautiful," she added, half-heartedly..

"And?" I urged gently.

"And, uh, the beach looks clean...and not too crowded."

"You're right," I agreed, "it _is_ a lovely beach...and?"

Silence.

She looked like she had run out of things to say...

...but, just as I was about to suggest that she come over to the bed...

...and into my aching arms...

...she added,"And we're so high up that the cars down there on the street don't even look real, more like toy cars...and...and..."

I waited for her to finish, but she just stood there, not speaking, so I prompted, "And...what?"...

...but there was no answer...

...but I did hear a loud, slapping/banging sound, as, suddenly, her forehead and palms made contact with the window...

...and she slid down it, until she was on her knees.

"Sam! What's wrong? Are you...are you sick?" I asked, now thoroughly alarmed, and unable to see her face because she was looking, not at me, but downward...

...and then, suddenly, I heard a loud gasp.

"It...it can't be!" she exclaimed.

"What...can't be what?" I asked. "What happened? Is there a car crash down there?"

No answer.

But, seconds later, she was on her feet and turned away from window...but her eyes still weren't on me.

They were on the door...

...and, suddenly, she was running toward it.

In an instant, I was on my feet.

"Sam! Where are you going?"

"I'll...be right back!" she replied, swinging the door open.

"No, wait!" I protested. "Let me put my shoes on, and then we can go togeth-"

"No, Carls!"

"But-" was as far as I got...

...before she ran over to the bed.

"No! don't move from this spot...I forbid it!" she demanded, putting both her hands on my shoulders and pushing me back down onto my back...

...and then, without another word, she tore out of the room...

...while I thoroughly confused, lay there, as instructed, staring at the closed door.

What the hell was that all about? What did she see...and why wouldn't she let me go outside with her?

At least fifteen minutes elapsed, at a snail's pace, while I lay waiting, confused and frustrated...

...but finally, she flung the door open and burst into the room.

"Carls...put your shoes on!"

I struggled up into a seated position.

"What's going on...and what's that?" I asked, pointing to the small, white object that she was hastily sliding into the back pocket of her shorts.

Instead of answering me, she ran to the middle of the room, where she began pacing back and forth...rapidly...mumbling to herself, "It's going to work! It's going to! I _know_ it will!"

After nearly two minutes of this, frustration got the better of me.

"Sam! What are you talking about?" I demanded...

...and, remembering that I was still in the room, she stopped in her tracks, then ran over to where I still sat, shouting, "I...I've got it! Carls, I've got it!"

"You've...got what?" I yelled, now way past frustrated.

"I...think I've...figured out how to get rid of the curse!" she answered, in a weird, constricted voice.

Remembering the specifics of my unintended wish, I asked, "My curse...or yours?"

"Maybe mine...maybe yours...maybe both!" she answered quickly. "I...I don't know, but I hope so!"

"Where were you just now?" I demanded. "What made you run out of the roo-wait! When you went outside, you saw, oh, my God! Did you see Mr. Oswell?"

"I-"

I reached up and grabbed her arms.

"_Did you, Sam? Did you see him? Because, if you did-"_

"No. I didn't."

"Are you sure?" I urged, "because, if you _did_-"

"I didn't-"

"Well then, you _thought_ you saw him...or someone who looks like him...but you're not sure, so-"

"No, nothing like that. I didn't see him...or anyone who looked like him," she answered with finality.

"Well...you had to have seen _something!_" I persisted. "Wait! I know! You saw a circus tent that looked just like his! They're setting up a tent near the hotel...and now you want me to go with you, so we can look for him! That's what happened, isn't it?"

"No, it's not that-"

"No, wait!" I interrupted. "You mentioned cars! Did you...did you see a truck, or a van, that had the words _Oswell's Oddities_ on it?'"

"No," she replied, "this isn't about him...at all. It...it's...something else."

"What, then? Sam, tell me!" I urged...

...but instead of answering, she dropped to her knees in front of me and began putting my sneakers on my feet and tying them rapidly.

"Are you going to tell me or not?" I demanded, looking down at her.

"Later," she answered distractedly, focused on what she was doing. "We've got to get started on-"

"Started on what?" I demanded, standing up and grabbing my handbag...

...which, jumping to her feet, she promptly took from my hand, while stating, "No. No handbags...or backpacks."

"But...but I'm going to need my money!" I protested.

"Okay, fine," she agreed, jamming her hand into my bag, fishing my wallet out, reaching around behind me, and shoving it into my back pocket.

"There," she said, "now let's go!"

And, before I could question her further she grabbed my arm, and then rushed out of the hotel room, slamming the door behind us.


	20. Chapter 20

The instant the elevator doors opened Sam ran through them, then sprinted across the lobby, skidding to a halt in front of the Check-in desk.

"Do you h-have any maps of the city?" she asked, slightly out of breath.

The clerk directed her to a nearby rack which held a variety of brochures and maps; and, after scanning it quickly, Sam grabbed one...

...and, a minute later, we emerged into hot August sunshine.

I watched in silence as she slouched back against one of the huge urns that flanked the hotel's wide front entrance, shook the voluminous map open, and then, head bowed, began staring at it intently...

...while I, leaning against the opposite urn, stared at her from across the cement walkway, feeling A) resentful and B) hopeful. After several minutes of being ignored, and now also feeling C) exasperated, I said, "Can you at least tell me-"

Without taking her eyes off the map, she held her hand up for silence...

...and grudgingly, yet promptly, I shut up.

I couldn't see what she was searching for, but from where I was standing it looked like the map contained a lot of tiny stars, each one denoting a landmark or business, and she seemed to be having trouble finding the one she wanted...

...and so, with no one to talk to and nothing else to focus on, my mind drifted back to resentment...

...and I soon found myself sulking again, because I wasn't currently rolling around in bed with her...

_...the way we should have been!_

Even though (thanks to the..._events_ of the last half hour) I was no longer fully aroused, I was _still_ being tormented by the persistent, dull-yet-deep, throbbing ache between my legs...and still very aware of how damp my panties were...

...while silently cursing myself for not stopping to change them before she had dragged me out of the hotel room...

...where I should be, right now, with her...

...enthusiastically taking care of both of our..._needs!_

And now, not only had she dragged me out here...she wouldn't even give me any details as to _why _she had! And, at this thought, my resentment shifted into high gear...

...demanding that I protest what was going on...

...insisting that I make her tell me, right then and there, what she was plotting...

...and, frustrated, I opened my mouth to complain...

...but, reconsidering, I soon shut it again...

...because, even though Sam's come up with some incredibly crazy ideas over the years...what if she really did know what she was doing this time? What if she really had figured out a way to end this curse? Still, despite this (remote) possibility, I absolutely refused to get my hopes up at that point, especially since I had no idea what currently going through her mind...

...and so, I was forced to reconcile myself to the fact that I really had no other option but to wait and see...

...and, as for the uh..._horizontal entertainment_, I consoled myself by vowing, right then and there, that we'd get to it soon...as soon as this..._whatever it was_...was over.

And so, doing my best to ignore what was going on inside my underpants...

_...all of it..._

...I turned my full attention to her...and waited in silence.

Finally, after what seemed forever, Sam refolded the map and shoved it into her back pocket...

...and, suddenly hopeful, I asked, "Now, can you tell me?"

Sam looked down at her watch, then back up at me, and shook her head, saying, "Later. Let's get moving...we have just enough time for lunch."

"Lunch?" I replied, equally dismayed and frustrated. "You said we were going to-"

At that moment, I forced myself to stop arguing...

...because it's a known fact that Sam operates best on a full stomach, so I realized that it definitely was in my best interest to let her eat first, before attempting...well, whatever the hell it was she was planning...

...and so, as she walked away from her urn, I followed her, silently and willingly, down the path.

Two minutes later, we'd turned into the city's main shopping street, and Sam immediately began sizing up each restaurant we passed with a critical eye; until, finally settling on one...

...she took my arm and turned to the right, leading me out of the stifling August heat...

...and into the cool, welcoming interior of _The Anchor & Dolphin_ _Pub_.

Once our host had seated us in the back corner, Sam grabbed a couple of menus from the table's holder and held one out to me...

...but I shook my head.

"Just order for both of us," I directed, now anxious to dispense with the preliminaries as quickly as possible...so I could find out what the hell was going on.

She nodded agreeably and, after studying the menu for a minute or two, she decided on two large raspberry lemonades, and two platters of Fish & Chips.

The instant the waiter turned away, I looked across the table at her.

"Now, tell me!"

"Well..." she began...

...but then hesitated...

...and I rolled my eyes in exasperation.

"Come on, Sam, while we're young!" I demanded.

"Okay, okay!" she conceded; and then, leaning across the table herself, and lowering her voice...

...she told me.

"_**Have you completely lost your mind!" **_I yelled...

...immediately regretting it, as I saw that virtually every other customer in the dining room was now staring, astonished, in my direction.

"But-" she began.

"No!" I cut her off (while wisely lowering my voice), "it's absolutely out of the question! There's no way that could _ever_ work...and besides, what about the...potential _criminal_ consequences?"

"Come on!" she persisted. "It's not as bad as it sounds!"

"No, Sam. Absolutely not."

"But...but _why?_" she whined.

"Because, I don't want to spend the rest of our vacation in a prison cell!" I informed her...

...but, unsurprisingly, she wasn't about to give up.

"Carls, don't you want to end this curse?"

"You know I do!" I shot back.

"Well, then, what's the problem?"

"I don't need to spell it out for you; you already know the answer to that question!" I snapped.

"It'll be fast!" she assured me, eagerly, "A hit and run...I promise!"

"No, Sam. End of story."

"Fine," she replied. "After we're done eating, just head back to the hotel. I'll meet you there later."

"Wh-what do you mean, you'll 'm-meet me there, later?'" I asked nervously.

"I'm doing this, Carls...with you or without you."

"No!" I gasped. "You _can't!_"

"My mind is made up," she replied...

...with unnerving conviction.

"But...but..." I countered, wildly wracking my brain for _any_ counter-argument...

...but failing to find one before she continued, "Sorry, Carls, but I'm going to...whether you'll help me or not. Somehow, we've been given this opportunity, and I refuse to pass it up. I started this...all of it; and, since I got us into this mess...and since there's now a chance to fix it-"

"B-but, it...it won't work!" I insisted.

"It will work."

"You don't know..._how_ do you know?" I demanded.

"I...I just know it will," she replied.

"But it...doesn't make any logical sense!" I pointed out.

"From the very beginning, has any of this made any sense?" she demanded. "Any of it? Has it?"

I didn't answer...and dead silence hung between us, like an impenetrable shroud...

...for nearly a minute.

"Has it, Carls?" she asked, again, this time much more gently.

"Well no," I admitted.

"Come on," she urged, "we're only looking at two minutes...three minutes, tops, if you'll help me."

"I...I-"

"Look at it this way," she continued, "it's not like we're going to hurt any-"

"Okay okay!" I agreed. "I'll go with you...but I'm only going to be there to lend moral support...even though there's absolutely nothing moral about any of this...and to try to keep any mayhem you're planning to cause to a minimum."

"You mean any mayhem that _we_ cause," she corrected.

"Why do I let you talk me into these things?" I sighed.

"You know why...because I'm irresistible...and speaking of irresistible," she added...

...nodding toward our waiter, who was approaching, balancing our food on his tray.

Due to my awareness of the shameful depths of depravity I was about to sink to, I didn't have much of an appetite at that point, so, instead of tearing into my food-as delicious as it looked-I just sat there toying with it.

Sam noticed.

"Don't you think you'll perform better on a full stomach?" she asked

"No," I replied, "it'll just weigh me down, while I'm fleeing the scene of the crime!"

Sam smiled in amusement, saying, "Come on, it's not going to be that bad...there won't be any _real _harm done."

In a way, I realized that she was right...

...up to a point...

...but still, I was far too stubborn to admit that to her, so instead I asked, "What if it doesn't work?"

"What if it _would have_," she countered, "...and we never tried it?"

I hesitated. As loathe as I was to join her in this..._escapade_...I also didn't want to spend the rest of my life this way...

...living in non-stop fear...

...and, what if she really was right? What if we were about to un-curse ourselves...

...forever? So, as much as I didn't want to, and as utterly wrong as it seemed from a moral perspective, it also seemed absolutely insane to pass this opportunity up; and so, I replied with a resigned sigh, "Okay, I guess I...I'll...I'll do it."

After hearing this announcement, Sam leaned across the table, and looked deeply into my eyes.

"Just think, Carls, a couple of hours from now we could be 100% curse-free, and then everything will be okay..._everything!"_ she said eagerly...

...and something about the expression on her face...

...so unselfish, and so full of hope...

...made me realize that, even though this was far from being a sure thing, it was at least a _chance_ to free Sam from her own, self-created prison...

...the non-stop self-loathing that she now carried around, and which was eating her up inside...

...which was solely caused and perpetuated by the pain of knowing what she'd done to me when she had started this unfortunate chain of events.

And so, because I love her so much, I caved in...

...completely...

...and, reaching across the table, I took her hand in mine.

"Sam, I'll...do it."

"You will?"

"Y-yes. All of it. I promise," I assured her...

...and, at this, she smiled broadly, all traces of her morning's angst now completely gone...

...and then, to my surprise...

_...and elation..._

...she turned her hand upward, until her palm was against mine, and then curled her fingers around my own...

...and, at that moment, I felt my own angst vanish. What if she really was right about all of this?

What if it really did work?

No more curse?

No more worrying, every single minute for the rest of our lives, that one thoughtless sentence might destroy us...forever?

And now, since she was so adamantly confident about this plan...there might actually be hope after all! And, between this realization...

...and the way that Sam was now smiling at me...

_...while holding onto my hand...in a public place...not even caring if anyone was watching..._

...suddenly, my appetite came roaring back...

...and I ruthlessly attacked my fish & chips...

...even finding room afterward to join Sam in dessert.

Speaking of Sam, I noticed that she was tearing through her food even faster than usual...and that's saying something.

"Slow down!" I admonished her. "You're going too fast!"

Looking up from her chocolate truffle cake, she mumbled, her mouth full, "Who are you...the pastry police?"

"No, it's just that you said we weren't going to...to do this until two o'clock," I reminded her.

"That's right," she confirmed.

"Then why the rush? It's just past twelve now," I pointed out.

"Well, yeah," she admitted, "but we need finish up here as soon as possible."

"Why?"

"Because," she said pointedly, "we still need to finish plotting our strategy...and to rehearse."

Minutes later, she'd flagged our waiter down and requested the check; and, after _I'd _paid (despite Sam's protests) and left the tip, we got up and hurried toward the exit. Once outside, she had another fast look at her map, and then-with her leading the way-we walked south for four blocks, turned a corner, and then walked another two blocks, ending up at a large public park.

Despite being the middle of lunch hour on a work day, the place was sparsely populated (no complaints here, considering why we were there(!); and, after pulling me down next to her on a bench, under the welcoming shade of a large tree, San turned to me and began drilling me with endless directions...

...all of which I had to repeat back to her, word for word, over and over again.

"Sam, _come on!_ " I yelled after our seventh run-through. "I know what to do now!"

"Sorry, Cupcake, but I'm not taking any chances on this," she answered grimly. "We're only going to have one shot at doing this right...well, at doing it _at all_, actually."

"Okay okay," I consented (grudgingly), "let's go over it again!"

After a fast glance at her watch, Sam announced that we still had time well in hand; and so we did go through it again...

...at least seven more times...until, finally, she announced, "Not bad...but remember...just like we rehearsed, Carls, with absolutely no improvis-"

"Improvising?" I shouted. "Are you crazy! That's the last thing I'd do...because I don't want to end up in the slammer! Speaking of which," I added, nervously, while grabbing onto her arm, "wh-what if there are w-witnesses?"

Sam shook her head.

"I doubt there will be many; because it's located on a side street, way down in the middle of the block," she explained.

Even though that still sounded way too risky for my liking, I nodded nonetheless.

"Okay," Sam stated stoically, while getting to her feet. "No matter what happens-crap! I just thought of something! We each need an alias."

"Why?" I asked naively.

She rolled her eyes, stating, "Well, we can't use our _real _names!"

Realizing she was right, I said, "All right. I...I'll be...uh, I'll be...Valerie."

She nodded approvingly, then stated, "Okay...and I'll be...Spike."

"Oh, no you won't!" I shot back.

"Well, how about Rocky?" she offered.

"Absolutely not!"

She frowned.

"What's wrong, Carls, too butch for you?"

"Well, yeah, but what's worse is they make you sound like a bully; and that's just asking for trouble!"

She looked down at me in disgust, stating, "Well, if you think I'm going to go for some sissy name, like Priscilla, you can forget-"

Suddenly, she stopped speaking, and her head swiveled to the left...

...and I followed her line of vision, to a spot about twenty feet up the path...

...where a young woman was sitting on a bench, struggling in the bright sunlight to read something on her _Scamazon Kendall._

"That's it," Sam announced, "I'll be Kendall; is that girly enough for you?"

"Well, okay...yes, it's actually a very nice name," I concluded.

Suddenly, I felt Sam's hand on my shoulder...

...and, turning back, I raised my eyes to hers.

"Carls, let's go," she announced. "Now remember, timing is everything, so we get in; we get un-cursed; we get the hell out of there...got it?"

"Got it!" I answered, suddenly feeling (thanks to all our preparation) a surge of confidence...and, determinedly, I jumped to my feet and stuck my chin out resolutely.

Seconds later, Sam turned to me, asking, "Are you ready?"

"Yes!" I confirmed...

...and then, bravely and boldly, the two of us marched out of the park.

After turning onto the main shopping street and walking for seven blocks, Sam suddenly stopped at the corner...and looked at me...

...and then looked and pointed down the side street...

...and then looked back at me...

...and nodded...

...and that's when it hit me: This was it. There could be no turning back now...

...and at that moment, all of the bravado I'd cultivated back in the park evaporated on the spot.

But still, as desperately as I wanted to run straight back to the hotel and hide under our bed, until all of this had blown over, I also knew that it was absolutely out of the question. I had to be there to support Sam; and what if, after all, she was right? What if, despite being way beyond crazy, this plan really did work?

Sam was staring intently at her watch.

"Eight minutes to go. Still with me on this?" she asked...

...and, even though I absolutely did not want to, I nodded...

...and then, turning away from Sam...

…I looked up Raleigh Avenue, where our soon-to-be-revealed fate awaited.

Suddenly, both of Sam's hands were on my shoulders.

I put up no struggle as she turned me around to face her.

"All right, let's do this," she said, determinedly...

...and then, without giving me a chance to respond...

...or to retreat...

she took my left hand in her right one, then turned and led me (still unresisting) up the attractive, tree-lined street.

This neighborhood was clearly residential, and at first I thought that perhaps Sam had made a mistake; but then, as we approached the center of the block, there it was, twenty feet ahead of us...

...a lone business, housed in a 3-story, glass-fronted building that was standing, inexplicably, amid all of the single-family homes that lined both sides of the street.

At that moment, I knew that Sam saw it, too...

...because, seconds later, she took hold of my arm and steered me over to the opposite side of the street...

...bringing us both to a halt at a bus stop, which was located in front of a charming, Dutch Colonial house...

...almost directly across from our intended target.

Immediately, Sam leaned non-chalantly against the sign post...

...feigning boredom...

...while I, now way past paranoid, was looking wildly (and guiltily) in all directions...

...until she snapped, "Carls! Be cool or someone's gonna see us and get suspicious."

Now breathing raggedly, I forced myself to look only on her face, focusing on it as hard as I could, while she continued, "Okay, wait here. I'm gonna go over there and do a little...recon."

"N-no!" I gasped. "Not b-by yourself!"

"Be right back," she answered, ignoring me completely and heading across the street.

My heart pounding, I grabbed onto the bus stop post tightly with both hands, watching, breathless, as she sauntered-casually, yet purposefully-past the building in question, sizing up its interior (out of the corner of her eye) through its wide plate glass front windows; then, she turned around and walked past it again, just as slowly; finally crossing the street with a satisfied expression on her face.

"It all checks out, Carls. Now, you go and see for yourself."

"N-no! I can't do this!" I gasped, tightening my already-white-knuckle grip on the bus stop sign post.

"Okay, then...on your way," she replied, waving her hand dismissively. "I'll see you back at the hotel."

"Sam, please!_ Please_ don't do this...it's way too risk-"

"I already told you, I'm doing it...alone if necessary," she replied...with unnerving calmness.

"N-no...no wait! I...I have a better idea!" I said, suddenly inspired. "On Friday, just as soon as we get back to Seattle, and right after I've finished settling things with Grandad, y-you and I can just walk over to-"

"Are you crazy!" she cut me off.

It wasn't really a question.

Letting go of the sign post, I reached over and grabbed her arm, saying, "But...but_ that'll_ be just as good as-"

"No," she said, shaking my hand off, "and you have to be out of your mind. Friday's five days from now, and now that we have this wish of yours hanging over our heads...in addition to the curse, there's _no way _we can wait that long."

"But-"

"No, Carls...think of all that can go wrong in the next five days!"

"Think of all that can go wrong in the next five minutes!" I shot back.

"Five more days!" she repeated, "Can you risk waiting five more days?"

Suddenly, I came to my senses...

...and, realizing that she was absolutely right about this, I admitted, "N-no, Sam...it can't wait."

She exhaled audibly, obviously relieved, then, taking a step forward, she looked directly into my eyes and said, in a low voice, "Finally! You're _finally _getting how serious all of this is. Now, get your ass across the street, and check the whole thing out for yourself...but don't be obvious about it."

I opened my mouth to protest...

...one last time...

...but, sensing my apprehension, she swung her arm out and pointed...

...jamming her finger violently in the direction of where I'd been ordered to go...

...and, silently conceding defeat, I obediently turned away from her, and crossed the street...

...on very unsteady legs...

...and then, after taking a deep, shaky breath, and while doing my best not to seem conspicuous, I walked, slowly and deliberately past our destination, first in one direction, then in the other; checking things out carefully, yet stealthily...

...and then, stunned, I joined Sam back at the bus stop.

"See?" she said.

"Okay," I conceded, "I have to admit that it is way beyond uncanny, but still-"

Sam glanced at her watch.

"Alright, Carls, this is it," she interrupted. "Just like we planned, word-for-word. We get in, we get uncursed-"

"You hope," I interjected.

She ignored me, adding, "...and then we get out..._immediately_. Fortunately, the front door is propped open; which will make our escape that much easier."

And then, not giving me even a second to reconsider...

...or to rebel further...

...she took my arm and led me across the street.

As I stood, heart hammering, a mere five feet off to one side of the building, Sam turned to me.

"You remember it...all of it?" she asked.

"Of course I do, Sam."

"No! Not Sam...Kendall, remember?" she corrected me.

I nodded.

Sam smiled grimly.

"Come on, Valerie, make me proud," she said...

...and then, without giving me time to assure her that I would, she took hold of my wrist firmly...

...and propelled me forward...

...and then, turning to the left, she led me through the open front door...

...of _Benson's Computer Repair Shop_.

Parking me (as planned) just inside the entrance, Sam marched boldly up to the counter, located at the rear of the shop...

...while I, picturing how hideous I was soon going to look in an orange prison jumpsuit, busied myself with pretending to browse a nearby display of cell phones (which the shop also sold); while keeping a very close eye on Sam, who was standing behind a woman who was talking to the owner.

"I'm sure this will fit your sister's laptop," he said, sliding a navy blue, canvas tote into a white plastic shopping bag. "It's the largest one we carry."

The customer nodded, satisfied, and then handed him her credit card, while I, growing more and more panicky by the minute, forced myself to not look over at the nearby, invitingly-open front door...

...which was calling to me in a most insistent way.

Finally, the transaction was complete and the lady, picking her bag up off the counter, walked past me, without a glance, and then headed out of the shop...

...and the second she had disappeared from view, Sam stepped up to the counter.

"Hi!" she said.

"Well, hello again," he replied, then checked his watch and added with a smile, "You're right on time."

He then glanced down at her hands, and, seeing that they were empty, he walked around to the front of the counter, asking, "It was too heavy for you to carry in?" That's okay, just show me where you're parked, and I'll bring it in mysel-"

And at that moment, as I stood, watching and waiting (with my heart in my throat), Sam gave the signal...

...by reaching her left hand behind her back and snapping her fingers...

...and, right on cue, and still standing near the door, I yelled, "Uncle Frank!"

His eyes left Sam's and, now looking straight at me (and very confusedly), he said, "Excuse me?"

"It_ is _you!" I exclaimed. "Uncle Frank! After we moved, I...I never thought I'd find you again! How many years has it been?"

"Uh, I'm sorry, Miss, but you're mistaken," he replied, shaking his head, "...I'm an only child, so I don't have any nieces...uh...uh..."

"_Valerie!" _I declared. "Your niece, _Valerie_! I don't blame you for not remembering me, though; after all, I was only four when we...oh, you look wonderful! And just as handsome as I remember!" I gushed.

And then, knowing that there was nothing else to do...

...except to finish what I'd started...

...and throwing every last shred of caution (and self-respect) to the four winds...

...I ran, at top speed, toward the rear of the shop...where he stood...

...rooted to the spot and staring at me in astonishment...

...the man who looked so much like Freddie and the Bonsen Shaman that he could have been their _father_...

...and then, smiling up at him...

...I threw my arms around him, pinning his own arms to his sides...and held on as hard as I could, while yelling, "It's so wonderful to see you ag-I've got him, Kendall! I've got him!"

"What are you doing, I don't have any nieces or neph-hey! Let me go!" he yelled...

...as Sam's hand shot forward, between my face and his neck, then grabbed onto his shirt collar, and, yanking downward, forced him to bend forward...

...and that's when he really started to struggle...

...while Sam, clapping her hands onto either side of his head, looked over at me...

...while I whipped my face to the left, staring directly into her eyes...

...as she, still with a death grip on his head, said loudly, "I wish, for your sake only, that you'll be free of this curse...forever!"

"Curse? What are you do-Let me go!" he yelled.

At that instant, she did...

...her hands leaving his head...

...but a second later she was wrapping both of her arms around his shoulders, at mid-bicep level, just above my own arms...

...as she yelled, "Now, Valerie! Now!"

"The money's in the register...don't hurt me!" he begged...

...as I, stepping quickly behind him, grabbed onto both sides of his head...

...as hard as I could...

...and, looking over his right shoulder at Sam, I clamped my eyes onto hers and said, "I wish, for your sake only, that you'll be free of this curse...forever!"

Just as a voice behind me...

...a distinctly female one, shouted, "What the _hell_ is going on here!"

And I spun around to see a stunned woman, obviously his wife, standing a mere six or seven feet behind me, in the doorway leading to the back room, from which she'd just emerged...

...and, taking her sudden appearance as our definite cue to leave, I let go of his head, grabbed onto Sam's left arm, yelled, "Great to see you again, Uncle Frank...gotta go!" and then we both ran, like maniacs, toward the front of the shop...

...or, more specifically, toward its open front door...

...as I heard her demand, "Uncle? A likely story! You said you're an only child...so, who were those...those_ floozies_? I want answers, Frank Benson, and I want them now..._or else!_"

What _'or else'_ meant, I never found out...

...since I was, with her words still ringing in my ears, now sprinting up the street at breakneck speed, reassured (slightly) by the sound of Sam's feet pounding the sidewalk behind me...

...as I ran, on and on, with absolutely no idea where I was going...

...turning corner after corner, conscious only of the desperate necessity to put as much distance as I could between the crime scene and myself...

...passing countless, blurry homes...until, after seven or eight blocks, we turned another corner, and I saw that we were back on the main shopping street...

...and, now way past winded, I lurched to a halt, and bent over, hands on knees.

Sam, however, still wasn't satisfied, and, grabbing onto my wrist, she dragged me halfway up the block, and then, turning to her right, down the alleyway between a hardware store and a bike shop, all the way to its end...

...where, confronted with a wide brick wall, we were forced to stop. Pulling me over behind a large, filthy dumpster, she leaned forward, gasping for breath...

...while I did the same.

"Oh, God...never again!" I said, as soon as I was able to speak. "Note to self: Never be seen anywhere near Raleigh Avenue..._ever again!"_

"C-carls, you were fantastic!" she gasped.

"S-s-so were...you!" I wheezed.

"It went off exactly as we planned it!" she added enthusiastically.

"Yes, it all ended perfectly," I replied with a smile...

...but then, still struggling to breathe, she stood up and looked at me...

...obviously confused.

"Ended? It's not over yet," she said.

"Wh-what do you mean," I asked, still breathing heavily.

"Don't you see, Carls?" she answered. "We still have to test it out."

"Test it out?" I gasped. "Y-you're kidding...right?"

"Of course not," she replied, now finally able to stand up straight. "We have to test it out now...I mean, how else are we gonna know if it worked?"

"No way, Sam! I...I have no interest in tempting fate!" I informed her...in no uncertain terms.

"Would you rather be unpleasantly surprised, later...like we have so many times before?" she countered.

"Of course not!"

"Well, then, you have to realize that we have no other option," she concluded. "We have to test it out...ASAP."

At this pronouncement, I fell back against the sun-warmed brick wall; however, it's broad, solid surface seemed to provide very little reassurance or support, as I said, "But..."

She reached over and laid a hand on my arm, stating, "We'll just wish for something unselfish."

After thinking this over, very carefully, for a couple of minutes...it dawned on me that she did (sort of) have a legitimate point.

"Well...o-kay," I finally conceded. "I...I guess we _could _try out some small, unselfish..._safe_ thing. I could wish something like...like...I know! That you'll find twenty dollars on the sidewalk!"

"No, Carls," she replied with a frown, "that's not nearly enough."

"Fifty dollars?"

She shook her head, explaining, "You're missing the point. What I meant to say is that...the only way to really know if it worked or not, is that the wish has to be huge...huge and risky."

"No!" I snapped. "There's no way I'm going to wish something horrible on you!"

"What if it works...and there's no curse anymore?"

"What if it doesn't?" I shot back.

"Come on, Carls."

"No!" I shouted, crossing my arms defiantly. "I'm not wishing something huge and horrible on you...and nothing you say or do will make me change my mind...ever!"

She sighed, then said, "All right, then; I'll just wish it on myself."

"No, you won't!" I informed her.

Taking a step closer, she looked into my eyes and asked, calmly, "How are you going to stop me?"

To this, I had no answer.

It was true. I'm not a mind reader, so there's no way I'd ever be able to anticipate, and therefore stop, her from wishing...for anything...

...but still, one thing that I _did _know was that she needed to give the idea up.

Right now.

"I...I know I can't stop you, but Sam...please!" I begged. "_Please_ don't do this! The whole point of what we just did was to _free _ourselves from this curse, not to make things worse!"

"I can't wait on this, Carls," she replied. "I can't live my life this way any longer. I have to know...right now."

"Well...if...but-" I began.

"So, are you going to be there with me...for moral support?" she interrupted, then added, "If you can't, I understan-"

"No! I...I'll be there, it's just that...I don't want anything bad to happen to you!" I said quickly...

...and, now realizing that I'd failed to persuade her, and now also way beyond scared, I threw my arms around her.

Seconds later, I felt her own arms wrapping around my back, but at that moment I was too distraught to enjoy being in her embrace...

...even though we were in a romantic, scenic, trash-strewn back alley...behind a smelly dumpster!

Instead, I rested my head on her shoulder, and she pulled me closer, and we stood there, unmoving, for the longest time...

...until finally, tilting her head forward, she took a deep breath...

...and, with her mouth near my ear, she told me, in detail, what she was planning to do...

...and five minutes later, she was marching resolutely up the front path of our hotel, with me grabbing onto her wrist, trying desperately to hold her back.

Ten feet from the entrance, I managed to pull her off balance, and she spun around to face me.

"Come on!" she said, clearly annoyed. "You just said that you understand what I'm about to do...and why!"

"B-but...but-"

"No, Carls. My mind is made up."

"But-"

She glanced at her watch.

"Come on, stop wasting time! You know that it's only tea time until four...and that we need an _excuse_ to be in the lobby for that long."

And then, before I could come up with a valid...well, with _any_ excuse...

...she had wrapped an arm around my shoulders and was leading me through the front door...

...and into the lobby...

...where, as she'd just stated, afternoon tea was being served.

A sweeping glance around the cathedral-like room quickly confirmed that there were going to be waaay tooo maaany witnesses for my liking; since there must have been fifty or sixty people sitting, here and there, at its many tables, enjoying small talk and pastries.

Sam surveyed the scene for a moment, then nodded approvingly.

"Uh, I think we're supposed to seat ourselves," she announced...

...and then led me over to a table, about fifteen feet from the Check-in counter.

As for me, I was way too nervous to even think about food at that point, but Sam's appetite was still intact, so, when our waiter approached she ordered us a pot of _House Blend _and a large plate of Madeleines.

Heart pounding, I sank down into my seat, until my chin was nearly level with the tabletop, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible; but Sam was leaning forward in hers, scanning the room eagerly, apparently already sizing up possible targets. Five minutes later, however, she was distracted by the tea and cakes that had just been set in front of her.

"Man, I should have ordered us iced tea instead of hot, because then we could drink it that much faster," she observed a minute later, gasping and spluttering as it stung her mouth.

"Well," I pointed out sagely, "the whole point of afternoon tea is to linger...and to enjoy...and to savor-"

"Yeah, whatever," she answered dismissively, taking another long, noisy slurp from her delicate, blue and white china cup, and then attacking the Madeleines.

"Oh, God...these are sooo good!" she mumbled, her mouth full...

...while I bit back the sarcastic reply that she might as well enjoy them...since she definitely wouldn't find anything like them on the menu of where she was very likely headed.

All too soon, both the plate and the pot were empty, and Sam leaned back in her chair...

...while I slid down in mine again...

...watching as she began to survey the other people in the lobby in earnest...

...waiting to find just the right one.

We didn't have to wait for long.

Less than five minutes later, she had zeroed in on her prey.

"Him," she said...nodding to a dark haired, very well dressed man, wearing an obviously expensive beige linen suit, who was approaching the front desk. "Him...and that!" she added, pointing down toward his right hand.

Craning my neck, I looked...

...and almost fell off my chair.

Whipping my head around to face her, I said (as loudly as I dared), "Sam you're crazy! That's a Limited Edition _Paul Stewart_ umbrella! They retail for over three hundred dollars! It's way, _way_ too risky!"

"Exactly," she replied, with infuriating calmness. "How else are we gonna know?"

Seconds later, her target had reached the front desk and was saying to the clerk (not the one who'd checked us in yesterday), "Robert Jastro...in Room 318...are there any messages for me?"

"Did you hear that?" I hissed. "He's already staying here in the hotel! It's way too risky!"

"Would you rather continue living in fear, Carls...not knowing if..._or when_...disaster is gonna strike?" she asked.

And then, before I could even attempt an answer...

_...or attempt to stop her..._

...she stared straight ahead, and, focusing intently on her own words, she said, "There's nothing I hate more than run-ins with the police...and so, **I wish** that...in the next twenty minutes, that...I'm going to get arrested! There...that was unselfish enough...right?" she asked eagerly...

...but instead of answering (because I knew what was coming next), I buried my face in my hands...

...but removed them seconds later...

...as Sam yelled, at the top of her lungs, "Hey! Hey you!"

As expected, a profound hush fell over the entire lobby...

...and, predictably, all heads turned in our direction...

...as Sam jumped to her feet, flung her napkin onto the floor indignantly and, marching straight up to the front desk, and over to where her victim was standing...

...she snatched the umbrella from his hand...

...while yelling, "Gimme that!"

And then, while looking up and into his eyes, with the most condescending expression I've ever witnessed anywhere, she sneered (loudly), "And what are you gonna _do_ about it?"

Not giving him an opportunity to answer, she turned on her heel, and then began marching resolutely (yet slowly enough to enable herself to be caught) away from the desk...

...and in the direction of the front door.

Although I didn't take my eyes off her for even a second, I clearly heard several people around me murmuring things like, "Oh, my God!" "Did you see that? "That punk kid just robbed that man!"

I shot a fast look over at Mr. Jastro, expecting to see him sprinting after her and snatching his property back, but he just stood there, rooted to the spot, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

But then, just as I thought that she was actually going to get away with it...

...because she was now less than ten feet from the front door...

...a woman at a table near the entrance turned to the man she was sitting with and exclaimed, "Mike,_ do_ something!"...

...and, with a grim nod, her husband...

...a tall, ruddy-faced man, who I guessed to be a high school football coach...

...judging from the way his massive chest and arm muscles were filling out his white polo shirt...

...suddenly jumped up from the table...

...and, lunging toward the entrance, he reached forward...

...with both of his huge hands...

...and grabbed Sam...

...and, with one hand latching onto the back of her shirt collar...

...and the other snagging the seat of her shorts...

...he lifted her effortlessly off her feet...

...until she was level with his chest...

...and then, holding her at arm's length, he carried her (umbrella still in hand), swinging her arms and legs wildly and ruthlessly, straight back toward the front desk.

"Lemme go, you hobknocker!" she shouted, kicking her feet savagely, yet ineffectively, in all directions...

...but (unfortunately(?) hitting nothing but empty air.

"I've got her, sir!" Mike announced to Mr. Jastro, setting Sam on her feet in front of her victim, then clamping both of his enormous hands onto her shoulders to prevent her from escaping.

As for Sam, she began to struggle violently under his massive palms, while staring up into Mr. Jastro's face defiantly, shouting, "Listen, you no-good son of-"

"I'll call the police right away!" the front desk clerk interrupted, suddenly recovering (thanks to Sam's impending profanity) from his surprise. "They'll take care of this young ruffian!" he added, reaching for the phone.

Suddenly, Mr. Jastro found his voice and raised his hand.

"No...wait a minute," he replied...

...and then, as every single person in the lobby stared in disbelief, he added, "that's...not necessary."

"Of course, it's necessary!" the clerk insisted, shooting a condescending glance at Sam, who was still struggling valiantly (yet ineffectively) to pry Mike's fingers off her shoulders and flee, and then he added, "We don't allow_ anyone_ to harass our valued guests..._ever_; especially not a...a _street_ _urchin_ like-"

At that moment, he stopped speaking...

...because Mr. Jastro, shaking his head, had reached over and taken the phone receiver from his hand.

As the clerk looked back at him, confused, Mr. Jastro took a deep breath, then said, slowly, "No, don't call them. You see...I...the umbrella's...not mine. I found it, this morning, over there, in a corner of the lobby. I realize that I should have turned it in, but..."

His voice trailed off, but soon, he found it again, adding, "I...I don't blame the young lady for being upset."

Turning back toward Sam, he looked up at Mike, stating, "It's...fine. You can let her go."

With a nod, Mike relinquished his hold on Sam's shoulders, then headed back to his seat, while Mr. J. looked down at Sam and, sounding genuinely contrite, said, "I'm really _very_ sorry about this."

Immediately, Sam opened her mouth to speak...

...but what she would have said is anybody's guess...

...because Mr. J. quickly held his hand up, silencing her...and then, hastily pulling a wallet from his inside jacket pocket with his other hand, he rummaged through it frantically, soon pulling out a small, yellow card, which he handed to Sam.

"Look, the hotel serves brunch seven mornings a week...and the food is excellent. I'd like you to be my guest, and this will get you in for free...you and your friend over there," he added, nodding in my direction.

Once again, Sam opened her mouth...

...but, once again, he cut her off.

"And...and I'll...I'm going to pay for your tea, also...for both of you!" he added quickly. "All I'm asking is that...would you please just overlook this..._unfortunate incident?_"

Even from where I sat, I could see what was going on behind Sam's eyes...

...that she was deciding how best to play off the rest of this scenario...

...and, soon settling on her course of action, she looked straight up into his eyes...

...and nodded, silently yet condescendingly...

...and then, after freezing him with one last, long, punishing glare...

...she turned on her heel and, with umbrella in one hand and free brunch card in the other...

...she stormed, indignant, toward the elevator...

...with me stumbling along behind her.

Five minutes later, safely behind our closed door, Sam was jumping on the bed, swinging the umbrella overhead wildly, while shouting in an annoying, sing-song voice, "It worked! It worked! It worked! It worked and I'm not cursed anymore! And now, I also have a $300 umbrella...and free tea..._and_ free brunch...for both of us! Tra-la-la-la-la-la!"

Exasperated, I reached up and grabbed a fistful of her shirt...

...while demanding, "Stop acting like a five year old, and get back down here-hey!"...

...as she grabbed onto my wrist and dragged me up onto the bed with her, while shouting, "Whoo hoo, Carls! And you thought it wasn't going to work!"

I didn't answer (or jump), but just stood there, with my arms crossed, shooting her my most disapproving look...

...while trying hard to hide my (grudging) elation that she had been right.

Obviously not satisfied with my (lack of) response, she reached forward with both hands, and, grabbing onto the sides of my shorts, she resumed jumping...

...now forcing me to jump also...

...until, finally, she won...

...because suddenly, I was jumping, too...

...voluntarily, and just as enthusiastically...

...and as high off the bed as I could...

...while laughing giddily and elatedly...

...until, losing my balance, I fell over, sprawling on my back onto the mattress, watching as Sam vaulted over my prone body and flew off the bed...in a perfect grand jete'.

I fell back against the pillow, laughing again, as she bowed deeply in response to my enthusiastic applause.

"Hey, Carls...who da man?" she asked eagerly...

...and, indulgently, I answered, "You da man, Sam!"

She smirked at my admission of her genius...

...in a most infuriating _and_ endearing way...

...and, realizing that I owed her_ full_ props...

...especially since she was no longer obsessing fearfully about curses and wishes...

...I smiled up at her warmly.

"You did it," I conceded.

"I...did."

"Yes, you did," I said again...

...much more softly this time...

...and, heart pounding, I held out my arms...

...gasping, as she leaned down...

...and reached forward...

...and, grabbing onto my hands, hauled me to my feet.

"Hey! What did you do that for?" I demanded.

"Why not?" she answered, confused.

Not wanting to mention what was_ really_ on my mind, I answered, "Well, you said it yourself: there's no more curse."

"Uh, yeah...kind of," she replied.

"What do you mean..._kind_ of? I just saw-"

"So did I," she agreed quickly.

"Well then...what's the problem?" I demanded. "After all, you just tested it out, so-"

"Yeah, I did."

"Then...why did you just drag me up off the bed when the two of us should be, uh...celebrating?"

"Because it's not over 'til it's over," she replied, very matter-of-factly.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, Carls, that now...it's _your _turn."

"Wh-what do you mean..._my_ turn?"

"You need to test it out, too," she replied.

"Oh, no, I _don't!_" I declared. "You just proved-"

"Yeah, I proved it for myself...but, not for you," she pointed out.

"But...I wished exactly the same thing as you did...in exactly the same way!" I exclaimed.

"But that's no guarantee-" she began.

"No, Sam! I'm not going downstairs to the lobby and stealing any-"

She shook her head.

"Don't worry, we aren't going downstairs to the lob-"

"I'm not stealing anything...from anyone..._anywhere!_" I asserted.

"Who said anything about stealing?" she replied. "I had...something else in mind."

"Like..._what_?" I asked...

...soon regretting it...

...because, less than ten minutes later, we were walking out the hotel's front door...well, actually, Sam was walking...

...and dragging me behind her...

...as I protested vehemently, "No, Sam! There's no way! No!"

"Yes, Carls."

"B-but...there are a hundred reasons why I couldn't...and shouldn't...and wouldn't!" I shouted...

...more than ready, right then and there, to list each and every one...

...but she wasn't having it...

...and, spinning me around, she grabbed my shoulders, asking, "Look, do you want peace of mind or not?"

"Of course, but-"

She cut me off with a shake of her head.

"No, Carls. You're going to. It's the only way."

And, seeing her expression...

...one that conveyed, in no uncertain terms, that there was absolutely no way out...

...I stopped struggling...

...putting up no further effort as she took hold of my arm...

...and led me across street, to the outer edge of the beach...

...but instead of heading down to the waters edge, we turned left, walked along the road for about four blocks, and then she led me...

...far too quickly and eagerly for my liking...

...around to the front counter of _TRACY'S TROPICALS_ a huge, colorful, Polynesian-themed concession stand, whose back hugged the street, and whose wide frontage faced the ocean.

Allowing her to take the lead, we walked past it-twice-at a safe distance, sizing things up, then Sam turned to me and said, "Okay, now that we have 'the lay of the land', next we have to memorize the menu."

"What..._why?"_ I asked.

"So you'll know what you're talking about," she explained patiently...

...and, after I'd consented...

...via a weary, yet resigned nod, we approached the front counter...

...but then, she stopped and, leading me over to the right, we stood off to the side...

...making it clear to any and all employees that we were 'just looking'.

Now that it was late afternoon and the sun was hanging low in the sky, most of the beach bums had come in from the water...

...and had abandoned their sunbathing...

...and now they all were lined up, waiting to order refreshments.

I glanced (somewhat nervously) at the long line of people, who were wearing a wide variety of attire, including casual resort sportswear, some (surprisingly) in business wear, and, of course, the majority in wet swimsuits.

Turning my attention to the joint's menu...

...which had been painstakingly hand-lettered on four long surfboards, which were hanging over the front counter, just under the fringe of the thatched roof...

...I looked at the multitude of offerings, and my heart sank.

"But-" was as far as I got.

"Just do it, Carls," she replied, anticipating my resistance...

...and, with a sigh, I did.

After ten minutes or so, I was fairly confident...

...and, after conveying this to Sam, I followed her over to a nearby row of benches, adjacent to the stand; and we sat down on the one that was farthest from the counter, but which was still close enough to see everything clearly.

Immediately, Sam turned to me.

"Next we'll see how much you've learned," she announced. This objective consisted solely of watching the counter top, as each drink was set on it, in front of the customer, in a large, clear plastic cup, and then identifying it to Sam.

Less than a minute later, Sam nodded her head in that direction.

"That one, Carls?"

"Um...grape-strawberry."

"Yes, that's what I thought, too...and what about that one?"

"Uh...raspberry-mango."

"No, the color is too light...it's orange-pineapple," she corrected.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she stated confidently. "Now, what about that one?"

"That's just a lemonade...and that long thing is a hot dog...and that twisty thing is a hot pretzel," I added sarcastically.

"Duh, Carls."

"And that whitish drink is a coconut-papaya."

After maybe ten minutes more, Sam was satisfied.

"Okay, here we go," she announced. "It's time to find your vict-uh, I mean your target."

"Why bother getting hung up on semantics...'target' is just as bad!" I declared.

Sensing my rapidly-returning apprehension, she cajoled, "Come on, after what we did this afternoon, with your 'Uncle Frank', this should be a cinch."

"What?" I replied, incredulous. "You've got to be kidding me..._right?"_

Ignoring my question, Sam leaned forward, and, elbows on knees, began staring intently at the slow-moving line of people...

...waiting...

...and, suppressing a sigh, I did the same. After several unproductive minutes had passed...

...with punishing slowness...

...I glanced over at Sam...

...whose face was screwed up, in total concentration...

...knowing as well as I did that a _lot_ rested on this decision.

Turning my attention away from Sam again...

...and back to my, uh, _'trawling'_, I spent the next ten or twelve minutes sizing up all possible candidates...

...and, during this time, I actually saw several who might 'qualify', and pointed them out...

...but Sam kept rejecting them...

...one by one...

...over and over...

...without even giving me a reason...

...until, just as I was about to yell at her to make her friggin' mind up, already...

...she gasped and, nodding her head in the direction of a spot near the front of the line, she said eagerly, "That one!"

I looked over and frowned, then asked, confused, "The one who's pointing up at the menu?"

"No," she answered, "see the old guy who's wearing the Hawaiian shirt? The one who's behind him."

Craning my neck, I looked...

...for all of three seconds...

...and then yelled, _**"Are you crazy?"**_

"That's what they say," she answered genially.

"Sam...No! N-not that one!"

"Yes, Carls. That one."

"I...can't!" I insisted.

"You have no choice," she informed me. "Like it or not, you're going to do this."

"I...I refuse!"

"Why?" she asked...

...but only to humor me.

"How can you even ask me that?" I gasped. "J-just look at that T-shirt!"

"I did," she assured me.

"Do you have any idea what _C.R.A.P.P._ stands for?" I demanded.

"Of course. That's what makes it all so perfect."

"You...you don't have any idea what _C.R.A.P.P._ means!" I insisted.

She turned to face me, stating, "Oh, yes, I do...it means that that snooty, self-righteous bee-yotch needs to be knocked off her pedestal...ASAP."

"But...but-"

"No, Carls. That's the one...hmm...raspberry-mango," Sam said, half to me and half herself, as the counter man set the cup in front of my...inevitable..._victim_.

As I saw the money changing hands, my heart began pounding in terror.

"Sam, no..._please!_ I really don't think-"

"Don't think, then...just do it...oh, God yes...this is too perfect!" she exclaimed...

...and, following her line of vision, I saw that my target had finally turned away from the counter...

...and was now heading across the deserted beach...

...down toward the water.

"Perfect!" Sam repeated. "Just think, everyone's gone up to the refreshment stand, so there will be no witnesses...which means that no one will hear a thing!"

"Sam, no! I've decided that there's absolutely no way I'm going to...wh-what are you doing?"...I exclaimed...

...as, leaning forward down and to her left, she began pulling my sneakers and socks off .

"No! I can't!" I repeated.

She ignored me.

Once my feet were bare, she straightened back up, then turned to face me.

"Come on, you need to get moving," she announced. "We can't waste this short window of opportunity."

"_I can't!" _I insisted.

Again, she ignored me.

Leaning closer, she looked straight into my eyes, stating, "Now, I want you to say it."

"I...can't!"

"Say it, Carls, or live in fear and uncertainty."

"Better fearful...and uncertain...and _free,_ than behind bars!" I observed.

"Say it, Carls."

"_I can't!"_

"Say. It. Carls."

"Okay, okay!" I shouted...

...now just desperate to get it over with...

...and so, I turned away from Sam...

...and, then stared straight ahead, focusing as hard as I could...

...and _then_, with as much feeling and conviction as I could marshal, I declared, "There's nothing I hate more than being hit...so, **I wish** that, within the next twenty minutes, I'm going to...to be brutally bitch slapped!"

"Well done!" Sam exclaimed, clapping me on the shoulder. "Totally unselfish and determined, and-"

"And suicidal!" I retorted.

Ignoring this, she reached over, took my hands, and hauled me to my feet.

"Sam, no...I-"

"Get down there, Valerie...get down there and make me proud!"

When I didn't move, she reached around behind me and whacked me on the ass...

_**...hard...**_

...and, abandoning all remaining traces of intelligent thought, and now rubbing my stinging left butt cheek, I sprinted across the wide stretch of beach...

...and down to the water's edge.

She had kicked her own shoes off and had pulled the bottoms of her pink sweat pants up above her knees before wading in...

...and now she was standing in the surf, alone...

...with her back to me...

...staring off at the horizon, which was now a magnificent, late afternoon riot of color …

...its hues reflecting warmly off her mousy brown ponytail, which hung down between her shoulder blades...

...it's ends suddenly fluttering, as a welcome, warm breeze rippled through the heavy, still-sultry air.

With my heart pounding in my ears...

...and while watching the way the surf swirled around tops of her calves...

...I stood there, motionless...

...for nearly a full minute...

...trying to figure out the best way to say it...

...but then, I caught sight of Sam out of the corner of my eye...

...and, seeing the way she was pointing...

...vigorously and repeatedly...toward the water...

...I knew that there was no turning back...

...and, after nodded at her slowly...

...I took a deep breath...

...and waded out.

A minute later, I was standing to the left of my soon-to-be victim...

...perhaps three feet away...

...with my legs trembling under me...

...while hoping wildly that, when she hit me she would aim for the _side_ of my face...

...instead of breaking my nose.

Since her eyes were still on the horizon, it seemed she didn't realize I was there; but suddenly, without turning to me, she said, "Hi!"

"Hi," I replied. "Lovely afternoon, isn't it?"

She nodded, then added, "Yes, there's nothing more beautiful than watching the sunset over the Pacific. I come down here all the time."

"Oh...do you live here?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied...

...finally turning to face me, and then asking, "Do you?"

"No...just visiting," I answered.

At this, she smiled, shaking her shaggy, light brown bangs out of her eyes...

...and, sensing that she was about to ask _me_ where _I _was from...

...a question I most definitely _did_ _not_ want to answer...

...I pointed down at her the lettering on her white T-shirt and remarked, "Oh, _Republican Conservatives Against Permissive Progressives_?"

Her face lit up.

"Yes!" she replied enthusiastically. "I'm surprised...most people don't know what _C.R.A.P.P._ means."

"Well, I watch the news a lot," I hedged...

...while cringing inwardly at the memory of the countless, mind numbing, soul crushing hours spent on Grandad's sofa...

...bored out of my mind...

...and not bothering to mention to her that it was only because he forced me.

"My parents are working on congressman Preston Elliot's campaign," she remarked suddenly...

...and then, she extended her hand.

"I'm Daphne Olivia Gates."

I shook it.

"Nice to meet you."

Silence...

...as I prayed that she wouldn't ask me.

"And _you _are?" she prompted, anyway.

"Uh, I'm Valerie...uh Valerie..._Spencer!_" I answered, blurting out the first name that came to mind...

...and, realizing that it definitely was time to change the subject, I pointed at the cup in her hand, asking, "Hey, is that a Slurpo, from_ Tracy's Tropicals_?"

"Yes, she replied with a smile. "They're so awesome...what kind did you get?"

"None yet," I informed her. "I just had afternoon tea."

"Oh, I see. Well, while you're here, be sure to try one," she remarked.

I nodded, then said, "I was thinking that I might come back for one, this evening...but I wasn't sure what kind to get. So, what's your favorite?"

She gestured at the cup with her free hand.

"Well, this one is raspberry-mango."

"That looks good," I replied, then added, thoughtfully, "I was checking their menu out earlier , and and the ginger-lime sounded interesting...but this one looks good, too."

"Yes, the ginger-lime _is_ good," Daphne assured me, "but the raspberry-mango is my absolute favorite."

"Hmm it _does_ looks good..." I conceded...

...as she took another long sip...

...and then, lowering the cup, she asked, "Would you like to try it?"

"I'd love to," I replied, taking a step closer...

...and, just as she extended it toward me...

...I knocked her arm aside..

...and then reached up...

_...with both hands..._

...and, grabbing onto both sides of her face...

...I slammed my mouth against hers.

It took nearly two full seconds for her initial shock to wear off...

...and, the instant it had, she began waving her arms wildly...

...but I was far from ready to let go of her...

...because, deciding that I might as well do the thing properly, I was determined that this kiss was going to be a memorable one.

Finally, after a full ten seconds, I took my hands...and my lips...off her...

...and, staggering backward from me two steps, she opened both her mouth and her eyes wide...

...but before she could utter a word...

...such as "Help!", or "Police", or "Die, dyke, _die!"_...

...I smiled at her broadly, and said enthusiastically, "you're right...that was absolutely delicious!"

She continued to standing there, staring at me, completely and silently aghast...

...and, apparently, too stunned to move...

...so, to hasten things along, I stared back at her...

...with dreamy eyes.

"Daphne," I sighed, "remember when you said that the most beautiful thing in the world is the sun setting over the Pacific? Well, you were wrong...because the most beautiful in the entire world is..._you!"_

_That _did it...

...and then, as if on cue, her eyes narrowed...

...and her nostrils flared...

...and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her raspberry-mango Slurpo disappear into the surf...

...as she flung the cup down...

...and, a fraction of a second later, she jerked her right hand upward and back...

...rapidly and forcefully...

...and I dug all ten of my toes into the wet sand, as deeply as I could...

...bracing myself for impact...

...closing my eyes, as her hand shot forward...

...and I felt the wind on my cheek as it swung around wildly...

...making sudden and decisive contact...

...with the back of my head...

...while her left arm wrapped around my upper back...

...and, dragging me forward...

...she slammed her lips into mine.

It took nearly two full seconds for my initial shock to wear off...

...and the instant it had, I began waving my arms wildly...

...but she wasn't ready to let go of me yet...

...because, deciding that she might as well do the thing properly, she was determined that this kiss was going to be a memorable one.

Finally, after a full ten seconds, she took her hands and my lips off me...

...and, staggering backward two steps, I opened my mouth and my horrified eyes wide...

...but before I could utter a word...

...she exclaimed, "I know! I know that it's impossible for you to speak...because of the way you feel! I know, because I...I felt it, too!"

"Wh-wh-what?" I managed to gasp.

"I...I've never told anyone about this," she said, now speaking rapidly, "...but I've been...struggling with my sexuality for years...wondering what was wrong with me...why I didn't feel the way I was supposed to about boys-"

"Wh-wh-what?" I managed to splutter.

"Night after night I've prayed...praying for a sign to show me what path I was supposed to take, and daring...against hope...that I might actually...and_ now_...I_ have_ been given a sign! And such a beautiful one as you!" she concluded...

...staring at me with dreamy eyes.

"But...but-"

She grabbed my upper arms.

"Valerie, are you a Christian? Please say that you are! _Are_ you?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Me too!" she shrieked excitedly.

"Th-that's nice," I replied, but-"

"Which denomination?" she asked, eagerly, cutting me off.

"Protestant...M-m-methodist, but-"

"My family are Baptists" she squealed. "That's so close! I never even dreamed that I would...oh, a sign..._and_ a child of God!" She lifted her eyes to the sky. "Oh, thank you, Lord! Thank you so much!" she exclaimed.

"B-but-"

Taking a step forward and completely closing the gap between us, she reached up and rested her right hand against my cheek.

"Come to my Bible study class tomorrow night...no, wait! Come with my family to Congressman Elliot's rally tonight...no, wait! You can come to_ both!_" she urged...

...with terrifying enthusiasm...

...and then, suddenly, it hit me: the realization that she was now beginning to plan our future...

...together...

...and, finally, I found my voice.

"I'm-m-m sorry, b-but I c-can't!"

"Oh...you're not out yet, either?" she asked sympathetically, then she lay her free hand on my arm, adding, "Don't worry, I'll just say that you're my friend...after all, there's no way I can tell my family...or anyone else...not _yet_, anyway!"

Before I could come up with _any_ kind of excuse to extricate myself from this rapidly-escalating nightmare, both of her hands were on my shoulders again...

...and she was pulling me close...

...and the expression on her face left no doubt as to what was on her mind: _** Another Kiss**_...

...probably the first of (at least) several more...

...and I began struggling...

...but she wasn't letting go.

"It's okay, I don't think anyone's looking," she said, confidently...

...without even taking her eyes off me...

...as she began to move in for the kill...

...and, at that moment, my brain began screaming...

...demanding that I punch her in the face...repeatedly...

...and that I then run like hell...

...until I was well out of the Ocean Shores police jurisdiction...

...but then, over its insistent yelling...

...I heard something else...

...the most beautiful sound I've ever heard in my entire life.

"Vaaaaalllleeeerrriiieee!"

And, whipping my head around...

...I saw (to my profound relief) that Sam, now barefoot, was tearing up the beach toward us...

...running to the rescue!

And then, to my utter joy...

...I felt Daphne's hands sliding off my shoulders...

...as she said, "Oh, I didn't know you were here with a friend." A fraction of a second later, she (finally(!) noticed my apprehensive expression...

...and, mistaking it for 'fear of being outed', she added, "Look, it's fine. I understand perfectly, because I haven't told any of my friends, either...so don't worry...I promise I won't say a word!"

At that point, there was no need to answer...

...because, finally, Sam had reached us and was now running, without hesitation, into the water...

...and, splashing her way out to where we stood, up to our knees in the surf...

...she looked directly at me and asked, "What are you doing?"

One look at her face confirmed (to my relief) that she understood the entire situation perfectly...

...and so, I replied, "Just talking, Sa-uh, I mean Kendall."

"Kendall, what a pretty name!" Daphne remarked pleasantly, turning to Sam with a friendly smile...

...but instead of smiling back, Sam just stood there, in complete silence...

...not even looking over at Daphne, but continuing to stare at me, expectantly...

...and, thanks to the devilish gleam in her eye, I had a pretty good idea what was coming next.

Fortunately, I had done a fair share of improvisation in my high school drama club.

Flashing a slightly 'guilty' smile, I began, "Daphne here...well, she's...just telling me about...we were just, uh, you see-"

"Don't you tell me what to see!" Sam shot back. "What I _see_ is you chatting up another girl behind my back! And that makes the third time this week!"

And, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the dawning of realization on Daphne's face...

...as she began to understand the 'true' nature of our 'relationship'...

...and I also saw, quite clearly, that she was, uh...somewhat less than happy about it.

"No, Kendall," I insisted. "it's not like that at all! We were just...talking."

"Yeah, right!" Sam shot back, loudly. "Talking today...and probably _screwing_ tomorrow! Now come on, you promised to drive me to my parole meeting!"

At this pronouncement, she looked over, meaningfully, at Daphne, as though expecting a response...

...but the poor girl just stood there...

...now stunned speechless.

"Anyway," Sam continued, turning back to me, "I was supposed to be there twenty minutes ago, and you_ know _how bitchy that goddamned old fossil Mrs. Phipps gets when I show up late!"

Suddenly, Daphne found her voice...

...and, with a disapproving look on her face (and sounding more than a little preachy), she said to Sam, "That's no way to talk about anyone, let alone an elderly woman."

"What makes you think it's any of your business?" Sam challenged, shooting Daphne a look of contempt.

"Now, Kendall," I began, "She's only-"

Sam whipped her head around to face me.

"No one asked your opinion either, Val," she cut me off, "so why don't you just shut the hell up?"

"Don't you talk to her that way!" Daphne admonished her, now unmistakeably indignant.

"Why shouldn't I?" Sam replied dismissively. "It's how I talk to all my bitches...and none of the_ others_ complain."

"None of the oth-" Daphne gasped. "Y-you mean there's...there's more than one?"

"Val doesn't seem to mind," Sam answered dismissively, then asked her, "So, how many do you have?"

"None yet, but-" Daphne began...

...then stopped with a gasp...

...suddenly realizing that she'd just said way, way too much.

"Oh, still on the down low, eh?" Sam inquired, in a fairly conversational tone.

Daphne opened her mouth, but was now, once again, incapable of answering...

...so Sam added, "Still questioning, huh? No surprise...I can spot one a mile away."

Since Daphne was still speechless, Sam continued, "As I said, Val here doesn't seem to mind."

Suddenly remembering my 'unfortunate circumstances', Daphne's voice returned.

"Well, she _should_ mind...and she probably does!" she shot back, fixing Sam with a resentful glare, adding, "She's probably just too..._afraid_ of you to say so!"

"Whether she is or isn't doesn't matter," Sam answered with a sneer. "Valerie knows her place."

At this revelation, Daphne, now unmistakeably agitated, snapped, "I don't know where she thinks her place is...but it definitely _shouldn't_ be with _you!_"

"Is that so?" Sam shot back...

...acting(?) more than a little offended. "And what makes you think you're qualified to-"

"She deserves a lot better than you!" Daphne shouted back, then whipped around to face me and grabbed onto my wrist.

"Break up with her!" she urged. "Find another girl...even if it's not me...because you...d-deserve so much better!"

"There's no one better than me!" Sam bragged. "I can do things with my tongue that you can't even imagi-"

Daphne spun back around to face Sam, the contempt in her voice escalating rapidly as she shouted, "You don't appreciate her!" Valerie's a lady! And a romantic! And a Christian! And _you_...well, you're obviously nothing but a...a...an _ATHEIST!_"

"How dare you!" Sam yelled, in her most offended tone. "I'm very religiously devout! You've heard of people speaking in tongues, while rolling around on the floor? Well, you should see what I can do with my tongue, while _I'm_ rolling around on the fl-"

Suddenly, she stopped...

...and then, turning to me, she continued, "Oh, yeah, while we're on the subject of tongues, Val, are you still 'on the rag'?"

Daphne gasped audibly.

"Well,_ are _you?" Sam demanded, her eyes still clamped onto mine...

...but, before I could figure out where she was going with this (and, therefore, how I should respond)...

...she snapped, "and you _know_ why I'm asking...because it's been almost a week...and I have _needs!_

I sneaked a look over at Daphne...

...who now looked ready to faint...

...as Sam continued, "Listen, after parole tonight, I'm going to head over to the elementary school, well, _behind_ it, actually...because I have to see _'you know who'..._about the delivery of _'you know what'..._from _'you know where'_...but I'll definitely be home by 11; and when I walk through that bedroom door, you'd better be naked and ready for some heavy fornicating!"

"Valerie, please!" Daphne begged, now looking (and sounding) very near tears. "_Please_ break up with her! Don't you see that she's only using you?"

Before I could respond, her hand slid from my wrist to my palm, and she held onto it tightly...

...just as Sam grabbed onto my other hand...

...while I just stood there, trapped, between them...

...wondering how the entire thing would play out...and who would fire the next shot.

As it turns out, it was Sam.

"Come on, Val, we've wasted enough time talking to this twit; now let's get going!" she demanded...

...yanking on my arm.

"No! I...I refuse to let you take her!" Valerie yelled, tightening her grip on me. "Even if she can't see for herself what a mistake she's making...it's my duty as...as, well, her..._friend_ to make her see-"

"Listen, you..._Bible Banger_," Sam shot back ominously, "The only thing_ you're_ going to see is stars..when my fist slams into your-"

"_Daphneeeee!" _an unfamiliar, shrill voice intruded...

...and, in unison, all three of us whipped our heads over in the direction of the shoreline...

...to see a middle-aged woman, obviously Daphne's mother, kicking her espadrilles off and wading quickly out into the surf...

...all the way up to the bottom of her plaid Bermuda shorts...

...which featured a combination of colors so ghastly that I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy...

...over to where the three of us stood...

...me in between Sam and Daphne...

...each of them still holding tightly onto one of my hands.

Not letting go of me, Daphne turned to her mother.

"M-mom; you're early," she remarked, sounding more than a little unnerved. "I w-wasn't expecting you until-"

Mrs. Gates frowned and shook her head.

"The rally's been rescheduled for seven, and your father is already there; so I just came to tell you to come home, and get ready to-_what on earth is going on here?"_ she demanded suddenly...

...now noticing that her daughter was holding the hand of a strange girl...

...who was also being held by _another_ strange girl.

"Daphne...who are these people?"

"Well, Mom...actually..."

Her voice trailed off.

"I just asked you a question...now, what's going on here?" Mrs. Gates repeated, with a very pointed look at Daphne's face...

..._and_ while pointing at our hands.

But, still, despite what was now a very awkward (and very dangerous) situation for her...Daphne continued to hold on...

...obviously dreading what conclusion(s) her mother might draw from witnessing this physical contact...but at the same time, loathe to let go of me...

...knowing that, if she did, she'd 'lose' me...

...in every sense of the word.

Forever.

Now more than a little irritated, Mrs. Gates repeated, "I asked you a question...and I expect an answer..._right now_...Daphne Olivia Gates!"

"Wow, Daph, great monogram," Sam observed.

At this remark, Mrs. Gates whipped her head around in Sam's direction...

...while shooting her a very disapproving look...

...obviously having extrapolated, based only on this one (minor) insult, that Sam definitely was _not_ 'her kind' of person.

Meanwhile, Daphne just continued to stand there...

...torn. She also seemed incapable of answering Mrs. Gates's question.

Sam, however, was perfectly able.

"I'll tell you what's going on here," she shouted suddenly, "...your daughter just called me an _atheist_!"

Mrs. Gates turned back to her daughter.

"Daphne...is that true?" she asked.

"Of course it's true!" Sam yelled indignantly, before any of us could find out if Daphne was even capable of answering; then added "Are you insinuating that I'm a li-"

"That's not what I meant, young lady," Mrs. Gates replied icily. "Not at all. What I was asking was-"

"You don't have to ask!" Sam informed her. "I'll set the record straight...right here and now! I hate atheists! All they do is spew lies! There _is _a God...and I can prove it!"

Mrs. Gates opened her mouth...

...presumably to lecture her...

...but, almost immediately, she shut it again...

...her need to tell Sam off apparently trumped by the alluring prospect of 'proof' of God's existence.

And then, as the three of us stood, watching in silence...

...Sam drew herself up to her full height...and, taking a step forward, she looked directly into Mrs. Gate's eyes.

"Here's your proof: If God doesn't exist, then why do so many girls scream His name during orgasm?" she demanded, "...and no one knows that better than I do...right, baby?" she concluded, turning back to me with a devilish smile, while reaching over and slapping me, resoundingly, on the ass.

Mrs. Gates stood staring at her...astonished...for almost half a minute...

...but then managed to gasp, "You...you're a...and...and you have m-m-multiple..._th-that __many_..." Unable to finish vocalizing such a horrifying scenario, she turned to me (the 'normal' one) and gasped, "Do you m-mean to tell me that the two of y-you..._d-date?"_

And, in that moment, I forced myself to make a split-second decision...

...realizing that a second opportunity had just been presented to me...

...a chance to make _twice_ as certain that I truly had been uncursed.

And, after all, while I _had_ wished to be brutally bitch slapped...

...I'd never said by _whom._

And so, turning away from Daphne (who still wouldn't relinquish her grip on my hand), I took two steps forward...

...right up to where Mrs Gates was standing...

...and, looking her squarely in the eye, I replied, "Actually, she and I do more than just date...a lot more!" And then, with a lecherous smirk, I added, "But it's too bad I'm not single...because Daphne here has _such a magnificent ass...and an incredible set of tits!"_

_That _did it...

...and, as if on cue, Mrs. Gates's eyes narrowed...

...and her nostrils flared...

...and I watched as she jerked her right hand upward and back...

...rapidly and forcefully...

...and, for the second time in less than thirty minutes, I slammed all ten of my toes back into the wet sand, as deeply as I could...

...bracing myself for impact...

...closing my eyes as her hand shot forward...

...and I felt the wind on my cheek as it swung around wildly...

...making sudden and decisive contact...

...with Daphne's shoulder...

...as she reached behind me and grabbed onto her daughter...

...while shrieking, "I can't believe what I'm hear-I can't believe who you're talking to! Now, come away from these...these...these _Democrats_!"

"B-but, M-mom-" Daphne stuttered...

...finally (sort of) finding her voice...

...but Mrs. Gates, her mind firmly and irreversibly made up, fixed her with a death glare.

But, seconds later, Daphne was, despite this, looking over at me...

...her eyes filled with sorrow...

...saying, without words, how incredibly sorry she was...

...about everything...

...as finally, regretfully, h_eart-breakingly_...

...she released my hand...

...but still, we stood there, continuing to stare at each other...

...and then I, also regretful, flashed her a most sincere, heartfelt, apologetic smile...

...which she accepted, with a sad nod...while taking one long, last look...

...until, seconds later, her mother had spun her around, and was dragging her by the shoulder...

...back out of the water...

...while Daphne was saying something that I couldn't make out over the crashing of the waves.

I did, however hear her mother's response...

...clearly...

...as she shouted, "I don't care if you _were_ only _witnessing_ to them! Don't you know what can happen to you when you come in contact with..._their kind?"_

If Daphne answered, I didn't hear her...

...because, at that moment, Sam, who was staring at their retreating backs, sighed, "Poor Daffy! Really, Carls...how insensitive of you to break her heart like that!"

"Break her heart?" I spluttered, more than a little defensively. "How can you criticize me that way, when you _know_ that I just performed a valuable service...at least now she's no longer questioning!" Turning to face her, I added, hands on hips, "But, don't you think _you_ were kind of..._mean_? Not only to Daphne, but to her mom?"

Sam stared back at me, incredulous, asking, "Well, would you rather I told her mom what was _really_ going on?"

"Well...no," I admitted, "but-"

And, at that moment, I stopped speaking...

...as it (finally) dawned on me...

...with all the subtlety of a bullet train.

I was free! No more curse...ever!

"S-sam...you were right! It _did_ work...and now we're not cursed anymore...either of us!" I shouted...

...and, lurching forward, I threw myself into her arms.

Seconds later, I was squealing loudly, as she swung me around in a huge circle...

...no less than five times...

...before setting me (now dizzy) back on my feet.

It took a minute to get my bearings again, but once I had, she took a step back and just stood there, staring at me...

...her hair full of late afternoon sunset...

...and her eyes full of sunlight...

...flashing her most winning smile, as she suggested, "You, know, Valerie, we should celebrate."

"Indeed we should, Kendall," I replied...

...while formally extending my arm and asking, "Can I interest you in a..._Slurpo?_"

"Indeed!" she exclaimed...

...taking hold of it and allowing me to lead her out of the water.

Seconds later, sliding her palm down my arm...

...she placed her hand in mine...

...holding on tightly...

...and, turning our backs on the sea, the two of us ran, laughing, across the wide stretch of beach...

...all the way up to the front counter of _Tracy's Tropicals._


	21. Chapter 21

Fifteen minutes later we were sitting back on our bench and I was looking out, over the sea...

...watching as the last vestiges of setting sun slipped below the horizon; while listening to Sam, over on my right, noisily draining the last of her orange-pineapple Slurpo.

With a contented sigh, I took another long sip of my ginger-lime (after all, I'd already tasted the raspberry-mango(!) and then, tearing my eyes away from the second most beautiful sight in world, I turned back toward the first...

...watching as she threw her empty cup/lid/straw, in a effortless graceful arc, into a trashcan about fifteen feet away. And I smiled...not because of her perfect aim, but because I was now thinking about tonight...

...about how I couldn't wait to hold her, naked, in my arms...

...but, as badly as I wanted to grab her-with both hands-and drag her straight back to our hotel room...

...and then, directly over to the bed...

...I suddenly remembered the unfortunate fact that Sam had brought nothing to Ocean Shores but an empty suitcase.

We had to go shopping.

And so, quickly finishing my drink, I got up, walked over to the trash can and threw the cup into it (my long-range aim sucks); and then I headed back to the bench, stopping directly in front of Sam and holding both of my hands out.

She took them.

As I hauled her to her feet, she looked at me questioningly.

"I know that you don't have anything you need with you," I announced, "so why don't we go shopping next? That way, you'll have clean clothes in the morning."

"I was just going to suggest that myself," she replied with a smile...

...and then followed me, willingly, over to-and then down-the road, through the rapidly-deepening twilight.

Less than five minutes later we were back on Ocean Shores Blvd. and, after walking only a block and a half, we found a pharmacy.

Just inside its front door, I turned to Sam and asked, in a low voice, "While we're here, do you need tampons?"

She shook her head.

"No. Not for another week and a half...why do you ask?"

"Well," I continued, "it's just...I've been thinking...that you can save some money while we're staying here if you just use _my_ grooming items; and so, since you don't need tampons, all you'll need to buy is a toothbrush."

She shook her head.

"Nah, Carls, no need to buy that, even; I'm perfectly happy to use _your _toothbr-"

"_The Dental Hygiene aisle is_ _over there!_" I cut in, pointing rapidly and enthusiastically to our left.

She stuck her lower lip out.

I pretended not to notice.

"Go pick one out, and then meet me back here," I added, stepping over to a rack of postcards, located near the register.

After shooting a last, reproachful look in my direction...

...which I ignored...

...she turned on her heel and headed, as instructed, toward Aisle Seven. Less than five minutes later she returned, with a new, blue-handled toothbrush clutched in her fist...

...and, reaching over, I took it from her, saying, "I've got this."

"Carls, that's not necessary!" she protested. "After all, I have money now."

"And I want you to hang onto as much of it as you can," I replied.

Nodding down at the post card in my right hand, she asked, "So, you found one you like?"

"Yes...and I'm buying one for you, too," I replied, holding up a second card, which featured a beautiful, sweeping beach scene at sunset.

At the register, I paid for everything, including two stamps; and then, after borrowing a pen from the cashier, Sam and I stepped down to the far end of the counter and took turns filling our cards out.

Five minutes later, I looked up from my completed message and toward Sam, saying, "Mine is to Grandad, thanking him for this trip. What did you write on yours?"

She picked it up from the counter and read:

"_Mom, Lay off the Madd Dogg...I can smell your breath from here!"  
><em>

Resisting the urge to laugh...loudly...I instead shot her a most disapproving look, then took the card from her; and, after putting stamps on both cards, I shoved them, along with her new toothbrush, into my back pocket.

Dusk was closing on us as we, now back outside, started walking again, looking for a place where Sam could buy some much-needed clothes...

...and, after only two more blocks, we found one.

The _A&B Department Store _was housed in a massive, turn-of-the-twentieth-century, former five-and-dime store. Its huge interior had been modernized-to a degree-but still retained its original hand-painted high tin ceilings, elaborately-carved wood molding, and understated Victorian charm...

...but, seconds after walking through the front door, Sam and I realized that it also featured some very unusual décor...

...including, among other things, a full-sized Stolch 811 twin-seater plane...

...a Wolksvagen ZW Beatle...

...a Kriss Kraft motorboat...

...and an AKT motorcycle...

...all hanging (upside down) from the ceiling, suspended by heavy chains.

In short, the store's décor was one of the coolest things I've ever seen...

...and Sam, too apparently, since it was nearly five minutes before she turned her attention from everything that was hanging over her head, down to me...

...stating as she did that, even though we were only staying for five days, her clothes back home were falling apart, and, therefore, she really needed to stock up.

Since I wanted her to save as much of her money as she could, I found this to be a bit unsettling...

...but still, I said nothing...

...because, once we were in the _Men's_ department, she headed (to my relief) straight for the sale racks; actually finding several decent items, before checking out the rest of the displays.

She let me help, and together we picked out for her: five pairs of shorts (it was too hot for jeans), twelve pairs of socks, ten pairs of boxer shorts, nine T-shirts...and then-at my insistence-a navy blue, lined, hooded, zip-up sweat jacket (I'd noticed that the night air outside was turning cool, and besides, the thing was on sale for only $15).

After I'd won that argument(!), I led her over to the _Women's_ department, where she picked out six bras.

"Well, that's enough, I guess," she stated. "I can just wear these same sneakers for the rest of the week."

As she turned her shopping cart in the direction of the register, located back up near the front entrance, I laid a hand on her arm and asked, "Would you mind if we took a fast look through the rest of the store?"

"Not at all; what is it that you need?"

"Well, nothing really," I answered. "I just wanted to see what else they have, besides clothes."

"Sure," she answered amiably, "lead the way."

Less than two minutes later, we were standing in the middle of _Housewares..._

...and it soon became obvious that this store catered mostly to a touristy clientele...because much of the merchandise (especially in this department) was of a 'souvenir' nature: Tea towels, mugs, etc., all with _Ocean Shores_ imprinted on them. Still, curious to see everything, I took my time walking up and down every aisle, with Sam tagging, cooperatively and silently, behind me.

Two minutes later, I saw something I _did_ want...

...and, on impulse (and suddenly inspired), I picked up three fat pillar candles, in a calming vanilla scent, and a long fireplace lighter...

_...for later._

Sam didn't say anything as I added them to the cart, possibly because she was busy looking at a display of small, decorative, wooden 'treasure chests'.

Reaching over her shoulder, I took the one she was holding from her hand, and set it in our cart.

"No, Carls," she protested, "that's okay. I don't need-"

"Oh, yes you do," I informed her. "I want you to have it."

"Thanks, Cupcake," she said, smiling appreciatively...

...and adorably...

...as she reached over and gave my hand a squeeze...

...and then, together, we headed to the register.

By the time we emerged from the store...each of us lugging a huge shopping bag...darkness had fallen completely...

...it's profound blackness punctuated decisively, however, by the numerous lamp posts lining both sides of the street...

...and by the soft light spilling out onto the sidewalk through the many storefront windows, enveloping us in a welcome (and welcoming) blanket of radiance.

"Ha-ha, I told you you'd need that!" I declared with a superior smirk, as I watched Sam pull her new sweat jacket from her bag and then remove the tags...

...but, less than a minute later, I was apologizing profusely for my arrogant remark...

...as she held it out to me.

"Here, Cupcake," she said, kindly ignoring my sarcasm, "I don't want you to be cold."

Gratefully, I turned around and let her help me into it.

She zipped me up herself and then, as I snuggled appreciatively into its cozy, waffle weave lining, I smiled at her...

...and, together, we turned and headed in the direction of the hotel (there would be time later for sightseeing), walking through the now-noticeably cool, misty night air.

Looking over at Sam, I said, "Well, that was a nice surprise."

"Yeah," she agreed; what an awesome store!"

"No, that's not what I meant," I replied, turning my attention forward once more, to avoid walking into any of the other people who were currently sharing the sidewalk. "What I meant was that, since this is a resort town, I thought a store like that one would be a tourist trap...you know, with incredibly high prices; but instead, you just bought an entire week's worth of clothes, for just under $300...which means that you still have more than a thousand dollars to save...to save...for..."

Suddenly noticing out of the corner of my eye that she was no longer beside me, I stopped walking, myself...

...and stopped speaking...

...and, turning on the spot, I saw her now standing more than fifteen feet behind me, rooted to the sidewalk, eyes unfocused and staring straight ahead, with a most unusual expression on her face.

"Sam? Sam, are you okay?" I called over to her, concerned.

When she didn't answer, I quickly retraced my steps, until I was standing directly in front of her.

"Sam?" I repeated.

"That's...that's it," she mumbled, more to herself than to me.

"Uh, what is?"

"_That's_ why your grandad gave me so much money," she said, raising her eyes to mine. "Don't you see? Last night at dinner, even though he obviously was...well, shell-shocked, he heard me say that I was going to college...and so this money is his gift...no, his _contribution_ toward that!"

"I...don't know, Sam," I replied. "Fifteen hundred dollars? Why would he give you _that_ much?"

She'd already asked herself that question.

"Well," she answered, "he knows that you're going to be 3,000 miles away, all the way over on the other side of the country, all by yourself, for the first time...and so, when he heard that I was planning to move to Philly...well, he probably likes the idea that I'm going to be so close by...since he won't be."

"But, still, Sam...fifteen hundred dollars? That's a_ huge_ gift! I...don't know," I said, frowning, "something about all of this just doesn't add up."

"Well, yeah...I know," she agreed, but then paused...

...and mumbled, "Unless..."

Silence.

"Unless..._what?_" I prompted...

...but she shook her head...

...refusing to elaborate, even though I asked her several more times...

...until I, finally convinced that she had no intention of telling me the rest, reluctantly let the matter drop.

As we stopped on the corner, waiting to cross the street, I said, "Look, there's a mail box on the next block, in front of that bank. We can mail our cards there."

She nodded and, taking my arm, led me carefully across the street.

After I'd dropped our cards, we continued walking toward the hotel and, soon noticing the 'Hours of Operation' sign on a nearby card shop's front door, I remarked, "I can't believe how late these stores stay open. Back home, the Seattle Waterfront stores all close around seven, and...and-" and suddenly, I stopped speaking...

...noticing, once again, that Sam wasn't walking beside me.

This time, I found her halfway back down the block...

...in front of _Shannon's Sub Shop_...

...whose open front window housed its front counter...

...where she now stood, entranced...

...eagerly inhaling huge lungsful of cheesteak-scented air.

With a smile, I headed back to where she was standing...

...and, without turning to me, she exclaimed, "M-m-m-mmm, Carls, smell that good grease!"

Obligingly, I did as she'd directed, reveling in the inviting and unmistakeable, mouth-watering aromas of sauteed mushrooms, melted Provolone, and garlicky marinara sauce.

"So...you're thinking about dinner?" I asked with a smile.

Tearing her eyes (with obvious effort) away from the storefront, she turned toward me and replied, "Cupcake, you know I'm _always_ thinking about dinner!"

"Well, that's good, because I'm hungry, too," I informed her, adding, "_really _hungry...and so, I'm thinking-"

"So am I!" she cut in eagerly, "Those steaks smell incredible!"

I shook my head.

"Uh, no," I answered slowly, not sure how she'd respond to my next suggestion, "actually, I was wondering if...uh...would you mind if _I_ pick the restaurant this evening?"

She was silent for a long moment...

...but then, after another long, yearning glance at _Shannon's_, she turned back to me and said, just as slowly, "Well, no...I...I guess not."

With an appreciative nod, I continued, "Well, I was thinking that...have you noticed that restaurant back at the hotel? The one off to the right side of the lobby as you walk in, behind that long glass wall? It's called Shafto's."

"The one with the two huge, weird metallic floral arrangements, right outside its entrance?" she asked.

"Yes," I confirmed, "that's the one."

"Yeah, I saw it."

"Well then, would it be okay if...can we have dinner _there?"_ I asked...

..and her face fell, as she protested, "But, isn't that...gourmet...whaddya call it? You know, what the sign in the window said?"

I had to think about it for a minute.

"Oh, you mean nouvelle cuisine?"

"Yeah," she replied, "that's it...so what the hell is that?"

"Well," I began, "to make a long story short, nouvelle cuisine is an approach to cooking that places a lot of emphasis on plate presentation..."

She still looked far from sold.

"...and, since you're an artist, I'll bet you'll love that!" I added quickly.

"Aw, man! It sounds way too formal...and I don't feel like like dressing up!" she exclaimed sullenly.

"How _could _you? I asked, "...when you don't even have any dress clothes?"

"Well, I...I...thought you'd just...force me to wear something of yours!" she replied apprehensively.

I shook my head and then, stopping under the next streetlamp, I pulled my phone out of my front pocket, saying, "Look, I'll give them a call. The hotel is so close to the beach that they might not even have a dress code. Besides, it's getting late and I'm not sure what time they close."

She still looked way less than enthused, but she nodded, nonetheless...

...and I made the call.

Less than five minutes later, I turned to her with a smile.

"Well, aren't you the lucky one?" I informed her. There's no dress code-"

"Yay!"

I shot her a look, then continued, "...and so I made us a reservation, for the last seating...which is in fifteen minutes."

"BOOOOO-MPH!" she exclaimed, as my hand shot forward and covered her mouth.

Immediately moving closer to her...until our noses were almost touching, I begged, "Please, Sam? I'd really like to...and I promise you that we'll come back for cheesesteaks...soon!"

After thinking it over (for nearly half a minute(!), she nodded slowly...

...and I removed my hand from the lower half of her face.

"Come on," I said, "gourmet food, in a casual atmosphere...how bad could it be?"

"You're right, Carls," she answered, sounding genuinely regretful. "I...I'm sorry."

"That's okay, you know I could never stay mad at you," I replied with a smile...

...reaching forward and pulling her into a hug...

...and feeling a thrill shoot through my entire body as she returned it...

...and then, with a sigh (and even though we were standing on a very crowded sidewalk), I leaned down and rested my head on her shoulder.

It was almost a full minute before she released me, but once she had I took her arm, and we continued walking; until, less than ten minutes later, we were entering the hotel, crossing over to the right side of the lobby...

...and walking through the front door of _Shafto's._

Two hours later, we were walking into our hotel room...

...and Sam was slamming the door behind us.

I set my shopping bag on the dresser...

...and she flung hers down next to it...

...then rounded on me, shouting, "Carls, that's the _**LAST**_ time I let _**YOU**_ pick the restaurant!"

"W-well," I began, defensively, "h-how was I supposed to know-"

I thought you were aware what kind of place that was!" she yelled.

"I...I thought I did, too," I agreed, in my most sincerely apologetic tone.

"No wonder they call it Shafto's," she observed...loudly, "...because we certainly got _shafted!"_

Laying a hand on her arm, I said, "B-but, I deliberately ordered us the five-course pre fixe menu...because it sounded like...well, like..._a lot!"_

"And it _would_ have been...if they'd put more than a thimbleful of food on each plate!" she shot back.

"Look, Sam-" I began...

...but she was on a roll.

"And that 'dessert' was the biggest insult of all!" she yelled, now waving her arms. "What the hell was that crap supposed to be? A huge, sixteen-inch plate, with _half_ of a **_miniature_ **chocolate macaroon...representing the dark side of the moon...in its center, surrounded by a few drips of sauce...and edible glitter stardust! Un-friggin-believable! I mean, _cockroaches_ eat more than that!"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm sor-hey, wait a minute!" I exclaimed suddenly, then demanded, now equally angry, "Why should_ I_ apologize to _you_...when _I'm_ the one who paid for that, that..._travesty?"_

"And that's another thing, Carls," she continued, ignoring my logic (and just as loudly), "...not only did they starve us half to death...they charged you an arm, a leg, and an ovary for the privilege!"

"Well...what do I look like...a psychic?" I yelled.

"Never again, Carls!" she shot back. "Never, ever again!"

Now furious at this last insult, I opened my mouth...

...to shout that, when it came to making decisions, she herself was _far_ from perfect...

...but then, suddenly, I came to my senses...

...and shut it again.

What the hell were we doing?

We were fighting with each other...like two highly agitated idiots...over something so unbelievably trivial!

And, after forcing myself to take a deep, calming breath, I said to her, with much more composure, "Look, we're both really hungry and cranky...so let's just call this evening a uh..._'learning experience'_...and I _promise_ that I'll make it up to you, tomorrow, with as many cheesteaks as you can-"

"But...I'm starving_ now!"_ she shouted, obviously far from ready to 'let this go.'

I reached over and took her right hand between both of my own, then stated, "Look, Sam, I was wrong..._really wrong_...about what I just said. I _do_ owe you an apology. I'm very, very sorry to have disappointed you by picking that place; but all I'm asking is that you take into account that I had no idea what was going to happen...so, please don't be mad at me...okay?"

Immediately removing her hand from mine, she covered her face with both hands for a long moment...

...and then said, much more calmly, "Carls...I...I'm _so_ sorry! I never should have...I never should have yelled at you...it's just that...I...I was expecting..."

...her voice trailed off.

I took a step forward and lay a hand on her shoulder.

"No honey," I replied, "you didn't do anything wrong...neither of us did...so why don't we both just...forget about this...all of it, okay?"

"I already have forgotten, Cupcake, it's just that...I'm still really hungry," she replied, as she leaned back, sulking, against the dresser.

"I...I've already forgotten it, too," I assured her, "...and so, why don't we just-"

I never got to finish the sentence...

...because, suddenly, her eyes left mine...

...as she whipped her head over to the right...

...and a second later, she shoved off from the dresser, ran across the room, grabbed her backpack, and then crossed the room again, sprinting for the door.

"Hey! Where are you going?" I demanded.

"Be right back!" she said, fumbling with the lock.

"It's already unlocked," I reminded her, then added, "But, wait! The restaurant is closed now! You saw for yourself that we were the last ones to leave!"

"Yeah, I know," she called over her shoulder, while running out of the room.

"Well then, did you see some vending machines down in the lobby?" I asked...

...but it was too late.

She was already gone.

With a sigh, I stared down the now-deserted corridor, trying to remember if we had passed a convenience store on our way back to the hotel; because that's the only other place that could possibly be open at this late hour. Unable to recall, I turned my attention to the two shopping bags on the dresser; and, for something to do, I pulled Sam's new clothes from them, removed their tags, folded them neatly, and then stored everything in two of the dresser's empty drawers.

Next, I pulled her new treasure chest out and set it in the center of the dresser...

...and then, I got my three new candles out, removed the cellophane from each and took them, along with my lighter, into the bathroom, where I set them on a bare section of the vanity...

_...for later._

As I walked back out of the bathroom, I noticed, to my dismay, the room service menu that was sitting on the nightstand.

Damn it!

Why hadn't I thought to (lavishly) order room service for both of us? If I had, Sam would be right here...

...half undressed and in my arms by now...

...instead of...God knows where!

I sighed. It was too late now. Oh, well.

Picking up the discarded cellophane and both of the shopping bags, I crumpled everything into a huge ball, then walked out into the hallway and stuffed it all into a trash can at its end...

...and then, I returned to the room.

To wait for Sam.

Less than ten minutes later, she burst through the door and, after shutting it hastily...

...and without a word, she rushed straight to the coffee table in front of the couch...

...where, after shrugging her now-bulging backpack off and setting it down...

...with a resounding _whump_...

...she turned to face me.

"Where the hell were you?" I demanded, before she could even open her mouth...

...and much too loudly.

"Getting you your money's worth," she replied grimly, but without a trace of resentment for how I'd just spoken to her.

I opened my mouth to speak again...

...but, shaking her head, she put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me down, gently, onto the couch...

...and then, kneeling beside the coffee table, she unzipped her backpack, reached inside, and pulled out...

...an entire roast duck...

...a nearly foot-long slab of thinly-sliced Scottish smoked salmon...

...half a dozen huge, marinated and grilled portabello mushrooms...

...several large sheets of lavash flatbread...

...and a long, chocolate Swiss roll, all wrapped in foil. After opening that last item, she paused.

"Oh, yeah, and before I forget," she said, reaching back into her bag and pulling out a huge bottle of _Canterberry Fizz_.

"Where did you get all of this," I asked, amazed, "...certainly not at Shafto's?"

"That's exactly where I got it," she replied. "I'm just as surprised as you are, though...I never expected to find food in their kitchen that was in larger than microscopic-sized pieces."

Frowning in confusion, I asked, "But how did you manage to get ins-"

"Back door...lock pick; refrigerator door...roasting fork," she replied succinctly.

Rising from her knees, she joined me on the couch, and then, without hesitation, we both tore into our _real_ dinner. Since there were no utensils, we ate with our hands...

...which meant that each of us was soon a greasy mess...

...but, at that point, I was far too hungry to care.

Twenty minutes later, when everything was gone, and Sam was inspecting the duck carcass carefully for any fragments she'd missed, I got up to wash my face and hands.

Soon sitting back down next to her, I asked, sarcastically, "Not going to suck the marrow out of those bones?"

Tearing her attention away from the duck carcass, she shot me a reproachful look.

"Feeling better now?" I asked, much more kindly...

...and, with a broad smile, she nodded and leaned back, sprawling against the sofa.

"Oh, no you don't!" I informed her...loudly. "Not until you clean yourself up...because I don't want you leaving greasy fingerprints everywhere!"

For once (and to my astonishment), she didn't argue with me, but instead got up and headed straight to the bathroom...

...while I sat, distastefully surveying all the trash that was now strewn across the coffee table.

Hearing the bathroom door open, I turned to her, saying, "I threw those two shopping bags away, but now I wish I'd save them, so we'd have something to put all this junk in...especially these duck bones."

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment then said, "Hey, how about this?" Bending down, she grabbed something from the floor, over on the far side of the bed...

...and, as she straightened up, I saw that it was the huge, padded manila envelope she'd found in her suitcase this morning...

...where Grandad had put it.

"This is lined with plastic bubble wrap, so it's almost as good as a trash bag," she added, walking over to where I sat.

"Excellent," I said, taking it from her hand and holding it open, "just crumple all that foil up and put everything in, and then I'll take it down the hall, to the trash ca-oh, my God!"

"Carls?" she asked...

…but I didn't answer...

...because I was now looking, stunned, inside the envelope...

...to see a smaller, cream colored one at the bottom.

Grandad's stationery.

He had sent us a _third_ item.

Sam obviously hadn't noticed it earlier, because it had fallen over sideways, wedging itself horizontally at the bottom of the larger envelope.

I pulled it out with shaking hands...

...and looked at it for a long moment...

...and then raised my eyes to Sam's.

She sat down beside me on the couch.

"Who...is this one for?" she asked slowly.

"M-m-me."

She nodded...

...and I tore it open.

Taking a deep breath, I reached inside, and pulled out...

...not Grandad's familiar stationery...

...and not another fax...

...but a single sheet of slightly crumpled, lined, yellow legal paper...

...and as I did I realized, to my great apprehension, that something about it seemed very, very familiar...

...and, the instant I unfolded it, I swear that my heart stopped beating...

...as I recognized, not only _my own_ handwriting...

...but _what_ I had written as well.

The words, which covered the entire front of the page, were one of my unfinished love letters to Sam...

...in which I'd poured my heart out, telling her how much I love her, and that I wanted only to spend the rest of my life with her, trying my hardest to make her happy...

...the way she made _me_ happy, every moment of every day.

And that I absolutely could not live without her.

But then, as I reached the bottom of the page...

...my heart, once again, lurched to a halt...

...this time, seemingly crushed by a huge, invisible fist...

...because I saw, written there in my Grandfather's unmistakeable, angular handwriting, the following seven words: _I found this on the kitchen floor._

**Oh.**

**My.**

_**God!**_

I sat, frozen and stunned, staring at what he'd written, while realizing that, somehow, this page must have fallen out of my wastebasket, while I had been carrying it through the kitchen...

...on my way to empty it in the back yard trash can...

...and he had _found_ it!

And, at this horrifying revelation...

...and with letter still in hand, I jumped to my feet and began tearing, in circles, around the couch.

"He's gonna kill me! He's gonna kill me! He _knows_...and now, as soon as I see him on Friday, he's gonna _kill_ me!" I shrieked...

...repeatedly.

"Carls! Carls...what is it?" Sam gasped.

"Oh, God, Sam!" I yelled, not slowing my pace. "He knows I have...f-feelings for you, and now he's gonna-"

A I passed in front of her for, perhaps, the seventh time, she reached up, grabbed onto the right leg of my shorts, and dragged me down next to her.

"Stop that!" she demanded. "You're making me dizzy!"

Without another word, she snatched the paper from my hand...

...and started to read it.

"S-sam, no!" I begged. "It's not fin...I never finished it...and, it must have fallen out of my wastebasket, and he found...oh, God! He's gonna _kill_ me!"

And, jumping back up off the couch, I resumed racing around it.

Less than a minute later, however, I came screeching to a halt...

...because Sam was now on her feet and directly blocking my path.

Taking hold of my shoulders, she steered me, protesting, back over to the the front of the couch.

"S-sam! He's gonna kill me!" I yelled, as she pushed me back down onto it, and then sat down on my lap to keep me from jumping up again.

"No, Carls, she said slowly, "he's...not."

"He is! He will!" I insisted, struggling-and failing-to slide out from under her. "He's going to..._oh, God!"_

"No," she repeated. "He's not."

"B-b-but you s-s-saw-" I began.

"You're not being logical," she cut in, with astonishing calmness...

...and, at this, I stopped squirming, while shouting, "How _can_ I be...knowing that I'm going to be _dead _by the end of the wee-"

Dropping the letter onto the coffee table, she put her hands on both sides of my face and, looking deeply into my wildly-darting eyes...

...she said, "Stop. Just...Stop...It."

With effort, I forced myself to stop freaking out verbally...

...even though my insides were still shaking violently in terror...

...and once I had, Sam took a deep breath, then stated, "Good. Now, let's be logical. First things first: when you called your Grandad this morning, did he sound...homicidal?"

"N-no," I admitted, quickly realizing that he hadn't.

"Well, then, how _did_ he sound?" she asked.

I thought it over for a moment.

"Uh, mostly apologetic...but _still-_"

"No," she interjected, letting go of my face, then picking the piece of paper up and holding it out to me, while directing, "Okay, now look at the date on this."

I did...

...but instead of reassuring me, it only made me even more agitated.

"It's...from over three months ago...in April!" I exclaimed. Looking up at her, I added, "H-he's h-had it all this time..."

"Yet he never confronted you," Sam finished my sentence calmly.

"But...but _why_ didn't he?" I demanded.

"That's not the issue here," she answered.

"Well, then, what is?" I shot back.

"How often do you empty your trash?" she asked.

"Once every week, on Monday nights, because the trash truck picks up every Tuesday morning," I answered, "but what does that have to do with any-"

"Don't you get it, Carls?" she cut me off. "From what you've just told me, plus the date on this letter, he's had it for over three months."

"I know that! We just established that a minute ago!" I shouted.

She shook her head.

"You're still not understanding what this means," she pointed out. "He knew about all of...this, back in April yet, on the day you both got into that huge fight, he told you that he'd been planning to invite me up to Yakima, to stay with you...for the entire summer."

"What does that have to do with-" I began...

...but then, suddenly, I got it.

Oh, my God, Sam! He _**WAS**_ going to let you c-come stay with me!" I gasped.

"Exactly, Carls," she answered. "Now, if he still hates me, why would he make an offer like that? Wouldn't he instead have wanted me to stay as far away from you as possible?"

Before I'd had a chance to answer, she mumbled, more to herself than to me, "Well, it looks like I _was_ right after all."

Frowning, I asked, "What do yo mean you were...oh, my God, Sam!" I exclaimed...

...suddenly remembering, "Do you mean, earlier, in front of the department store, when you said, 'Unless'..._this_ is what you were thinking? That h-he _knows_ about us?"

She nodded in agreement, adding, "Yes. That's why he gave me fifteen-hundred dollars...instead of, you know, maybe fifty."

"No way!" I shouted. "Sam, there's _no way!_ It's...absolutely too farfetched!"

"What other explanation could there be?" she asked, in a tone that left no doubt that she'd already embraced this conclusion.

"I...don't believe it!" I said stubbornly. "Grandad's mindset...and his...religious devotion...and-"

"And people can change their minds," she countered.

"Maybe...but not _my_ grandfather!" I insisted.

"He has, Carls, if you'd only realize it."

"What do you mean 'he has?'" I demanded. "How do you figure that?"

"Look," she replied, "it's obvious, from this letter, that he knows how you feel about me...yet, he sent us _both_ on this trip..._together._..but he wouldn't let me sleep in your bed last night, even though it's a queen size."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that, obviously, he's old-fashioned and doesn't allow 'that sort of thing' under his roof. Yet, here we are now, in a hotel room, all alone...and he knows that because he deliberately sent us here...for five whole days...so, all of this can point to only one thing: that he knows how you feel about me...and he accepts it."

"Well, even if we _assume_ that's true, then how, I mean...what made him change his mind?" I asked.

"I'm...not sure," she admitted, "but we both know that much of his day revolves around reading the news...and watching it on TV.; which means that he has to have seen all the recent news coverage of all of those haters saying that gays should die...

I opened my mouth to speak...

...but she held her hand up, adding, "...plus, there's all those stories about gay kids killing themselves, because they're bullied relentlessly into thinking that they're less than human."

"All the more reason why he wouldn't want me to be gay!" I insisted.

Sam shook her head.

"No, Carls. You're not factoring in the most important thing of all."

"And...what's _that?"_

"That he's well aware of how miserable his own life is," she answered. "After all, his wife left him...and now, being so desperate for companionship, he's allowed himself to become prisoner to an evil, drunken troll...so, don't you think that he'd want _you_ to be happy?"

I shook my head.

"I...don't know, Sam; but even if what you're saying is true...I...I'm sorry but I don't know how else to say this...but...even if he could reconcile himself to me being in love with a girl...then then...why would he want me to end up...end up with..."

"With a hooligan?" she asked.

"I'm sorry!" I added quickly, "it's just...how could he possibly go from calling you..._that,_ for as long as I can remember, to...to...giving you his _blessing?"_

Instead of answering immediately, Sam pulled the folded stack of money that Grandad had given her from her front pocket...

...and sat, looking at it, for a long moment.

"No, Carls, this doesn't represent his blessing," she said slowly...

...then, looking up at me, she stated, "What I'm being given here is a...a chance."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," she continued, "it means that...he knows that if I'm not serious about my, about _our_ future, then I'll just waste this...and if I do, that means I won't be able to go East with you next year...which means that you'll be spending four years all the way over on the other side of the country...which means that you'll probably find someone else you want to be with...instead of with me."

"How can you even say that?" I gasped. "Don't you _dare_ even _dream_-"

She held her hand up.

"Whoa! I'm just stating this from _his_ perspective. But, on the other hand...if I _do_ follow through on everything I said...and if I work hard, then I _will_ be able to go...which means that...I'll sort of have _earned_ the right to...be with you...see?"

I still didn't buy this whole thing completely...even though, as Sam had pointed out, there really didn't seem to be any other possible explanation...

...but, still, I didn't want to argue about it...

...because I was now fixated on-and terrified of-my upcoming reunion with Grandad.

"What am I going to say to him, on Friday?" I asked. "How can I possibly-"

"You probably won't have to say anything," Sam stated confidently. "If he wants to discuss it...which I doubt, then he'll bring it up himself...but I really don't think he will...okay?"

After thinking it over, I nodded...

...and then sat looking at her for a long moment...

...as, now deep in thought again, she lowered her gaze.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?" she asked, not looking up.

"I was thinking," I continued, "that...when we go East, if we both have cars, we could...live together, you know, share an apartment...halfway between both campuses, to minimize the commute for both of us."

She didn't answer me, just sat staring at the floor.

"...unless you don't want to!" I added quickly.

To my relief, she reached over and gave my hand a squeeze.

"No, of course I'd like that!" she assured me...

...as she looked up, into my eyes...

...and smiled at me in that wonderful way of hers...

...and suddenly, Grandad was the last thing from my mind.

We just sat there, my hand still in hers, looking at each other, neither of us speaking. I had no idea what she was thinking...

...but, rather than deliberating on that, I was now thinking about _myself_...trying to figure exactly what to say or do next...

...because I wanted to do this the right way.

_All of it._

I wasn't sure if she was tense...

...but I sure as hell was...

...and so, it seemed that the next logical step was that we should relax...

...both of us...

...together.

And, getting up off the couch, I turned to her and, while hoping my voice didn't betray my extreme nervousness, said, "Well...we should get cleaned up now...and get, uh, ready for bed; so, uh, how about a...a long, hot shower?"

Without hesitating, she nodded.

"That sounds great!" she responded, eagerly...

...and, turning away from her, and with heart racing, I headed to the bathroom.

Pushing the door open...

...as far as it would go...

...I walked through it and, crossing the room..

...over to the vanity, I picked the lighter up and, with trembling hands, lit all three of the vanilla-scented candles I'd bought earlier that evening...


End file.
